


Six Months

by Steph_Puppet



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, F/M, Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-08 22:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7776394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steph_Puppet/pseuds/Steph_Puppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is he looking at us?” Gaby turns her head slightly to look at the other driver, supposedly KGB if she believes the CIA agent, and as they make eye contact she feels all the air in her lungs suddenly escape through her mouth to emit a slightly strangled gasp. She has not seen him for half a year, but his face is not one she would easily forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to ‘The Man from U.N.C.L.E’ film or television series. This is a non-profit piece of work made solely for the purpose of entertainment.

_One of her happier memories of that six months was surprisingly mundane. It was the simple pleasure of a shared meal- prepped and cooked twice over since the first attempt resulted in an inedible charred mess that may once have belonged to an animal. That in itself would have been enough to ruin the evening had it not been for a low chuckle accompanying the sound of a pair of hands, much larger than her own, beginning to chop vegetables for a stew. Before she could even begin to protest that_ she _was supposed to be cooking a meal for_ him _, a large glass of vodka was quickly pushed into her hands and she was sent away from the little kitchen. She had spent the next hour with a content smile, sipping her drink and watching him work with the same efficiency he applied to any other task. Later that evening, pleasantly tipsy, she had fallen asleep in his lap as he told her about what he had done that day at his boring accountancy job. Her last conscious sensation before she drifted off was of his lips pressing against the top of her head._

* * *

The news that the American delivers quite callously initially strikes Gaby with an unexpected feeling of numbness, but it does not take long for that feeling to heat into a quiet fury that she is quick to conceal. She had always thought that her father was being held in a prison somewhere, or even dead. Hearing that he has been living cosily in the USA while she has spent most of her life in fear of being reported for her Western sympathies and apprehended by the Stasi, ignites the flame of an old anger that she had thought she had moved on from. At least now she has the chance to escape over the wall with the American’s help, although she is sure that Waverly will not be pleased when he hears about the unexpected intervention.

In her late foster father’s garage, the American points at the window as he persuades her to go along with his plan. Curious, she peeks out to see a tall figure concealed in the shadows, and for a moment she starts in recognition. The height and build of the man are achingly familiar. She moves slightly closer to the glass to try to get a better look at him, but the cap that is pulled low over his face prevents her from confirming or rejecting her suspicions. Not wanting to linger on such thoughts, she steps back again, almost bumping into the American in her haste to get away from the window. He quickly leads her towards the car, and as she gets into the driver’s seat she shakes her head slightly, trying to dislodge the stupid stubborn idea.

After a short period of driving, she notices they have a tail that is gradually creeping closer to them, and despite his position in the back on the car the American notices as well. As the other car edges nearer and stops beside them, he quietly asks her questions as she resolutely stares ahead and tries to subtly answer him.

“Is he looking at us?”

Gaby turns her head slightly to look at the other driver, supposedly KGB if she believes the CIA agent, and as they make eye contact she feels all the air in her lungs suddenly escape through her mouth to emit a slightly strangled gasp. She has not seen him for half a year, but his face is not one she would easily forget. She flushes slightly as she realises how ridiculous she must look at this moment with her mouth slightly agape and her eyes open with shock. He looks back at her without any surprise, his expression unreadable. _Of course_ , she thinks suddenly, he will have been given her photo by the KGB. He has likely had hours to digest the news. So distracted is she that she almost misses her companion repeating the question, she answers quickly, still not taking her eyes off the man in the other car. He maintains eye contact before suddenly flicking his gaze to the backseat of her car and back. She thinks this might be a message of some sort, and as she hears the agent’s next question she realises what he is trying to tell her. The gun he is no doubt holding in the hand not resting on the steering wheel, is not intended for her but for her passenger.

It is a small reassurance to know that he is not there to kill her, but it is quickly followed by a large pang of anxiety as she realises that regardless of what is going to happen this evening is not going to end on a happy note. If he manages to incapacitate the American, he will have to take her to some KGB safe house for interrogation, an interrogation she suspects will be far less amiable than one involving the CIA. But if they manage to evade him or kill him, then she will never see him again and this short time spent side by side, separated by the metal of two cars, will be a reunion that is far more bitter than sweet.

She slams her foot on the pedal as the bullets are fired, not daring to glance back to see what has become of Viktor (if that is his name, she has no way of knowing for sure and now will likely not have the opportunity to ask). She feels an absurd burst of happiness as she glances into the rear-view mirror to see that the car behind them is pursuing them again, signifying that the driver had managed to avoid the two shots aimed at his head. They resume the chase, Gaby doing her best to employ any and all possible evasive manoeuvres, a smile starting to emerge on her face as the adrenaline kicks in. She can practically hear his frustration as she forces his car on to a different section of the road, she imagines that he is cursing violently in Russian as he moves the gears into reverse and her smile gets wider.

Gaby doesn’t think the American suspects anything, he has been busy concentrating on the map and she can always excuse her initial hesitation as caused by fear. From their hiding spot among the parked cars, she can see the KGB agent drive past. The American issues some instructions as he gets out of the car, she nods and prepares to follow them before feeling his hand suddenly touch her shoulder. She turns in surprise to look at him attempting to give her a reassuring smile.

“It is going to be okay.” He tells her slowly, meeting her gaze. She nods and looks away, hands already moving to the wheel and gearstick.

She is returning to the parking spot when she hears the bullets being shot, shortly followed by the unmistakable sound of a car crashing into a wall. Before she can process what has just happened, the American is back in the car and hurriedly issuing directions. She complies, and less than five minutes later the Russian is back on their trail, this time chasing them without a car. She wants to laugh and hit him at the same time for how _stupidly_ stubborn he is being, the amusement rapidly changes to alarm as she realises that actually he is doing a pretty decent job of slowing down the car _with his_ _bare hands_. Even her companion is in somewhat disturbed awe at their pursuer. Eventually the trunk of the car is ripped off, and she takes the opportunity to speed away before the CIA agent can try to shoot him.

They don’t see him again until they are preparing to zip wire down to the van driven by Agent Jones, and then she can only spare him a glance once they are safely in the back of the van and he is dangling precariously over the minefield. He catches her eye briefly before dropping down to the ground. She flinches instinctively, expecting to hear the sound of a mine exploding beneath him and ripping him to shreds. She breathes out a sigh of relief when she hears no such sound, and the American claps her on the shoulder.

“You’re safe now.” He tells her, clearly mistaking her relief for the agent’s survival for relief at having escaped him. She gives him a thin smile and settles down in the van to wait to see what will happen to her now. She hopes that the man she knew as Viktor is valuable enough to the KGB for them to clear the minefield to safely get him out, but she knows that they won’t be happy that he has failed to retrieve her.

At the CIA safe house, Gaby is deep in thought and halfway through a glass of wine when Agent Solo abruptly interrupts her musings by putting a plate of risotto in front of her. The act promptly reminds her of the last time someone made a meal for her and she has to deeply bite her lip to prevent an outward show of emotion. She manages to exchange a few remarks with Solo before he moves into another room to speak to his superiors. As soon as he leaves, she takes a deep gulp of wine and enjoys the numbness it spreads throughout her.

She almost wishes she hadn’t seen him again today, the happy memories he brought with him are unwelcome as each one is a painful reminder of something that cannot be. She had always hoped that she would see him again, but each of those wishful fantasies had always involved him returning to East Berlin permanently, and now that she is on the other side of the wall there is no chance that those fantasies will come true. She should have known this would happen eventually, MI6 have already set aside a flat in London for her to live in once she fulfils her side of the bargain with Waverly, but that doesn’t soften the blow at all.

She takes a bite of the risotto, she’s sure it is supposed to be nice but unfortunately the taste is marred with iron from where her lip has started to bleed. She swallows thickly and forces herself to take another spoonful.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: She almost wishes she hadn’t seen him again today... She had always hoped that she would see him again, but each of those wishful fantasies had always involved him returning permanently, and now that she is on the other side of the wall there is no chance that those fantasies will come true.

“America is teaming up with Russia.” Gaby repeats in disbelief. “Is this a joke?”

“This should tell you how important this mission is to everyone.” Solo explains.

She stands up awkwardly in the uncomfortable suit he has picked out for her and attempts to move, the outfit making an odd squeaking sound as she bends and straightens her knees. The two enemies joining together was not an outcome she had expected after the chase a few days ago, if anything she would have thought that it would have built animosity rather than encourage union. Perhaps the nuclear threat really _is_ bigger than their mutual antagonism. At least she will only have to deal with this farce until Waverly finally shows up to take over, but instead of providing much needed cheer the thought of her boss suddenly brings to mind a rather worrying possibility.

“I’m not going back behind that wall.” She states firmly. “And at the end of this, that’s what they’ll want.” If the Russians are getting involved, then it is possible that they might try to block the deal she has made with MI6 and force her to return to the East once she has done their dirty work. There is no way in hell she is going to let that happen. As Solo attempts to reassure her that her fears are unfounded, she is distracted by a prickling on the back of her neck accompanied by a strong feeling of being watched. Spinning around to try to catch the individual, she is abruptly confronted with a very familiar face.

The Russian is staring at her with the same unreadable expression he had in the car, and a mixture of surprise and relief floods her. She has spent the past few nights worrying over him and convincing herself that the KGB had left him to fend for himself or had extracted him only to punish him for his failure. Her eyes quickly scan his body, looking and failing to find any sign of injury from their adventure a few days ago. Ignorant of her thoughts, he only holds her gaze for a moment before seemingly dismissing her and turning to Solo.

“Russian architect’s fiancée would not wear such clothes.” She flushes in indignation at being ignored, and opens her mouth to say something about it. As though sensing her anger, his eyes flick back to her, communicating a warning of some kind. With considerable effort, she closes her mouth and settles for glaring at him.

“Gaby, this is Agent Illya Kuryakin of the KGB.” Solo introduces him, pointedly ignoring the Russian’s comment. “He is going to be playing your fiancée while we are conducting our business in Rome.”

* * *

_“Schmidt!”_ _Gaby raised her head from the paperwork she was doing to see one of the other mechanics jerk his head towards the door. “Customer.” She nodded and cleared away her papers before heading towards the garage entrance._

_The customer was leaning back against his car, waiting patiently to be attended to. He looked up as he heard her footsteps and immediately straightened up; he had looked tall sitting down but his new stance revealed his huge frame. Tall and broad and handsome, she felt a genuine smile cross her face as she self-consciously adjusted her dirty uniform. If there had been a mirror available she would have checked for any tell-tale dark smudges that always seemed to appear on her cheeks at the most inconvenient of times._

_“Can I help you?” She asked._

_“My car has broken down.” Her smile faded as he spoke, his German was perfect but his accent gave away an unpopular nationality._

_“We have a lot of cars in at the moment, it will be a few weeks before we can fix yours.” She lied, hoping that he would go to a different garage. He merely shrugged._

_“When should I come back for it?” She bit her lip as she thought it through, she didn’t want him to come back and catch her in her lie._

_“Come back next week, I’ll have a look at it during my break. It might not need too much work.”_

_“Thank you.” To her irritation, the bastard even sounded grateful as he handed over his keys. She watched him leave, the metal ring dangling from her fingers._

_“I’ll need your name,” she called out to him before he could get too far away, “in case you come by while I’m on a break.”_

_“Viktor Petrov.” He answered, she nodded and made a note of it in a small notebook she carried on her person. When she raised her eyes again she saw him stroll away, as though without a care in the world. She frowned in annoyance, and had to fight down the impulse to make a large dent on the hood just to wipe the expression off his face._

* * *

As the two men bicker over clothes, Gaby entertains herself by browsing the lingerie and sleepwear available, still keeping an ear open to their argument. It is strange to see them both argue so venomously over something so trivial, it seems more personal than a simple professional disagreement. She thinks that something must have happened between them after the car chase to make their relationship so hostile, and she promptly remembers a day when Solo left the safe house with his handler and returned in an irritable but victorious mood. It occurs to her that she should have the opportunity to ask Illya (she hopes it is his real name this time and not another false identity) why he and the American hate each other so much. They are posing as an engaged couple, and it stands to reason that they will have plenty of time alone to talk. Her small smile turns self-deprecating as she realises that she already has many questions to ask, and she is more eager for answers to those than to find out the reason why he has had a spat with Solo.

Behind her the argument abruptly stops, and the silence is shortly followed by the sound of a door opening and closing again. She picks out a few items from the pile the saleswoman has recommended before turning her attention back to the remaining man. Illya is holding out a dress for her to try on, and it only requires a cursory glance for her to decide it is much more to her taste than what Solo chose.

“Illya-”

“Not now.” He interrupts her, glancing meaningfully at the salespeople still hovering nearby. She guesses his paranoia over being watched was the same reason he had silenced her earlier display of annoyance. His voice softens slightly when he looks back at her. “We can talk later.” Somewhat mollified, she takes the coat hanger from him and heads into the changing room. Slipping the orange and white dress on, she takes the opportunity to look in a mirror and admire the outfit she knows costs more than a year’s earnings from mechanic work. As well as being beautiful, it is much more comfortable than what she has just taken off, and it also makes a pleasant change from mechanic’s overalls. She heads out of the changing room and stands before Illya for inspection. He nods approvingly and gently manoeuvres her around, his hands warm on her waist as he turns her.

“Almost perfect.” He says. “There is just one thing missing.” She frowns a little, she already has the painfully expensive bag, what other accessory is necessary?

He takes her hand and turns it over so he can drop a small item onto her palm. Looking down, Gaby sees it is an engagement ring and she feels a sudden sharp pain in her chest.

“We are engaged now.” The smile he gives her seems forced and his next word is uttered with probably more bitterness than was intended. “Congratulations.”

* * *

_They were at an engagement party, five months into their relationship, when Gaby suddenly realised how serious her feelings for the giant, quiet Russian were. It had been a struggle just to get Viktor to attend, what with his dislike of crowded places full of drunk people, but by using an effective combination of threats and promises she had eventually convinced him. It had been a fun evening, and she had particularly enjoyed teasing Gretchen about her adoring and utterly devoted fiancée. But underneath the happiness she had felt an unexpected pang of envy, and against her will her mind had turned to silly wishful ideas about her own future, all of them heavily featuring the Russian that had spent all evening by her side._

_After the party, they had returned to her flat, Gaby having to lean slightly on Viktor as they walked. He never drank as much as she did, usually forgoing alcohol altogether except for the odd occasions where he would join her for a glass of something strong. That night had not been one of those occasions. Once at the flat, he had immediately pushed her into an armchair and headed to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. She had sprawled inelegantly across the chair and unsuccessfully attempted to kick off her uncomfortable shoes. She had glared hatefully at them until he returned, handing her the glass before turning his attention to her feet and nimbly undoing the straps. She let out a blissful sigh when his thumbs pressed into the arch of her aching foot._

_“Have you ever thought about getting married?” She asked suddenly, the booze still in her system coaxing the words out before she could truly consider their potential impact. She felt his fingers suddenly stop their ministrations, and she opened her eyes to see an unusual tension about his shoulders. “I don’t mean us,” she amended quickly, “I just meant in general.” Her additional words didn’t seem to have any relaxing effect on him, instead he carefully put her foot down again and leaned back against the chair from his seated position on the floor._

_“I don’t think I will ever be married.” He admitted quietly. She frowned and struggled to sit upright._

_“Why not?” There was a lengthy pause before he answered, as though he was weighing multiple options or trying to find a way to delicately phrase his feelings._

_“My job requires me to move around a lot, I don’t really stay in the same place long enough to think about marriage.”_

_“You’re an accountant, Viktor.” She pointed out, somewhat needlessly. “You could get a permanent job anywhere.” She noticed with some annoyance that he was avoiding eye contact with her._

_“I work for a firm of accountants.” He clarified. “They decide where I work. If they want me to be in Moscow tomorrow, I have to be in Moscow tomorrow.” This seemed unreasonable to Gaby, who at that moment did not notice how uncharacteristically frank he was being about a job he had been quite vague about in the past._

_“Can’t you just quit the firm and work where you want?”_

_“No.” He said humourlessly. “I can’t.”_

_After a few minutes, the penny finally dropped for Gaby, and later she would convince herself that her momentary cluelessness was solely due to her inebriation. For the first time in the months that they had known each other, she began to consider that perhaps he wasn’t actually an accountant like he had always claimed. Most of the men in his supposed line of work did not look like he did- big and dangerous. And most of them didn’t have scars like he did, faded and fading lines and marks forming a dense network along his torso, arms and legs. When she had first asked about them, stretched out nude across him and lightly tracing a particularly painful-looking scar, he had explained them away as old injuries from his former career as a soldier. It was only now that she began to doubt him. Some of those wounds had looked far too fresh to be years old. Unbidden, one of his earlier sentences returned to the forefront of her mind, and she quickly pushed her near-certain suspicions away allowing a fiery and crackling anger to descend over her._

_“Will you be leaving anytime soon?” She demanded, the inkling of understanding doing wonders to sober her up. He continued to avoid her gaze._

_“It seems likely they will transfer me in a few weeks.” The confession dissipated most of her anger and caused the blood to drain from her face._

_“When were you going to tell me?” She demanded sharply. “The day before you left?” He shook his head and reached for her hand, which she abruptly yanked from his grasp, almost relishing the barely concealed hurt that appeared on his face._

_“I was going to tell you soon, I was waiting for the right moment.”_

_“Get out.” She said quietly. He looked a little taken aback by her order, he had clearly been expecting them to talk it through properly. But she couldn’t bring herself to be the bigger person, she just wanted him gone. “I want you to leave now.” For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to obey, but after a short pause he rose to his feet._

_“I’m sorry, Gaby. I wanted to tell you.” She dismissed his apology with a sharp hand motion, and avoided looking at him as he walked out, not wanting him to see the water that had gathered in her eyes and was drop by drop beginning to slide down her cheeks._

_As the door shut quietly behind him, she no longer bothered to conceal the sobs behind her fist. The harsh sound almost seemed to echo around her flat, amplifying the overwhelming loneliness that had suddenly come over her. She wondered what was so wrong with her that led to everyone she cared about leaving her. She had thought that she had finally found someone to be a permanent fixture in her life, the knowledge that he would disappear like all his predecessors was a bitter pill to swallow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news, I have finished writing this story so it won’t be abandoned. The main story is ten chapters long, and there will be an eleventh chapter with all the flashbacks. Each flashback in the main story is meant to relate somehow to the events of the film, e.g. Napoleon introduces Illya- Gaby meets Viktor. Next chapter (23rd August): Gaby and Illya get mugged.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: He takes her hand and turns it over so he can drop a small item onto her palm. Looking down, Gaby sees it is an engagement ring and she feels a sudden sharp pain in her chest. “We are engaged now.” The smile he gives her seems forced and his next word is uttered with probably more bitterness than was intended. “Congratulations.”

They check into the hotel under their own names, and Gaby is pleased to see they have only been given one room, which should give them the opportunity to talk privately. She is unsurprisingly impatient for it. To be so near him and not be able to say anything about their past is difficult, she longs to know whether his feelings have changed since they parted, and so far he has been so focussed on the job at hand that he has not given her even the faintest hint.

Instead of heading to their room as she is expecting, he leads her away from the front desk, deliberately taking her hand and putting it on his arm so that they look more like a couple. When she raises her head to examine their surroundings, she spots Waverly taking their vacated place in the check-in queue. Her small amount of training kicks in and she averts her gaze to avoid her companion noticing the interest she is taking in such an inconspicuous figure. No doubt her boss will alert her when he needs something of her, and until then she will keep her head down as much as she can under the circumstances. They leave the hotel, Illya marching determinedly through the Italian streets, seeming to be aware of a destination he has not yet enlightened her to.

“Where are we going?” She asks quietly, once they are far enough away from any prying ears.

“I am pretending to be architect, architect would not go to Rome without visiting some of sites.” He explains as they travel down the Spanish Steps. His English is even more thickly accented than his German was and she finds her lips quirking up every time she hears him speak. “What is it?” He looks down at her with a frown, clearly confused as to the source of her amusement.

“Nothing.” She says with a smile that grows sad. “I’ve missed this,” Gaby admits, “and you.” His hand catches hers as it hangs by her side, his palm by itself is nearly large enough to cover her entire hand.

“I’ve missed you too.” His answer makes her heart swell, but the sound of a motorbike ruins the moment, and he lets go of her immediately as though burnt.

“Well isn’t this cosy?” Solo says with a mocking smile. “You almost look like a real couple.”

“You are not supposed to be here.” Illya snaps, ignoring the comment that tinges Gaby’s skin pink.

“You’re being followed, I came to warn you.”

“I know.” Illya rattles off a brief description of the two men following them, and she is annoyed to realise that she had never even noticed they had a tail. For all of Waverly’s talk about making her an agent, he has only given her the briefest of training. She doesn’t have too long to dwell on it as the two men predictably start bickering about the best course of action to be taken against their stalkers. She listens to both their plans and forms her own opinion.

“Maybe we should do what he says.” She interjects, asking Illya to listen to Solo’s plan. “It would be good for our cover if my uncle thinks you’re harmless.”

“This is not the Russian way.” He declares stiffly, but none the less agrees to go along with it.

Unlike Napoleon, she at least appreciates the sacrifice he is making for their cover. She’s known him long enough to realise how proud he is, and how much he will hate to take this insult lying down. Solo departs, making another snarky and unhelpful comment to Illya as he leaves. Her natural inclination would be to take her former lover’s side, but she’s so sick of their inability to get along that she mostly just wants to knock their heads together in the vain hope that it will give each of them some much needed common sense.

She and Illya walk on further, eventually reaching the sight of the Teatro di Marcello looming above them. It is much darker now, and compared to the reasonably busy Spanish Steps, this attraction is nearly deserted. It is the perfect location for an ambush. She has never liked walking around a city at night, buildings that are innocuous or pretty during the day are often rendered intimidating by darkness. She finds herself unconsciously clinging closer to him, and once she realises she is doing it she berates herself for her weakness and mentally forces her shoulders back in preparation to brave any threat they face. As they walk around, she almost considers trying to start another conversation with Illya, but a brief look at his serious face silences the words she wants to say. He is totally focussed on the humiliation ahead, and she does not think she will get any coherent answers from him until it is over and done with.

When they round a corner, she feels his arm stiffen under her hand as a figure becomes visible under the moonlight. She thinks she makes a decent show of being scared, keeping her head down and her eyes low as they move past the first and second man. As she suspects, it does not take long for them to make their first move- an acquisitive comment about his shoes that he is quick to deflect. As the robbery is initially underway, everything goes smoothly. Illya does not seem scared, but he is docilely complying with their requests, not even making a noise of protest when one of them yanks the wallet out of his grip. She can feel herself relax as they to move away, but her faint hope that they would escape unscathed crumbles away as one of the men notices the watch on his wrist and the ring on her finger.

Gaby fakes some hesitation before handing over the ring. The pause is for the benefit of the thieves, she needs to look like she is sad to see the ring go. The small piece of jewellery may be nothing more than a prop, without any sentimental value attached to it, but to a freshly engaged couple it would be a symbol of love and commitment, and so she keeps her eye on it until it disappears into the man’s pocket. She retreats, and steals a glance over at her companion to see that he has not moved an inch since the man demanded his watch.

“Darling, give the man your watch.” Still nothing. “ _Please_.” She takes hold of his arm again and mentally implores him to look at her. Eventually he does and it is possibly the panicked look in her eyes more than the jeers of the men than makes him undo the clasp and hand it over. As the thief takes it, the watch is briefly illuminated and Gaby is surprised to realise that she recognises it. She has woken up to see it on her bedside table many a morning back in East Berlin. She has traced the engraved Cyrillic letters with her thumb and wondered at their meaning. Unlike her ring, his watch is not a piece so easy to discard. It holds some profound, unknown value to him.

A sudden sharp sound makes her jump, and she sees Illya reel back slightly from an undeserved slap to the face. When he raises his head again he looks murderous, and his fingers begin to drum against his thigh in a pattern she recognises.  

* * *

_Gaby sipped slowly at the cheap whisky, making a face as the alcohol burnt its way down her throat. If she hadn’t had plans for the evening she would have downed it as quickly as possible and immediately ordered one more from the miserable looking man behind the bar before he could move on to another customer. But as it was she did have plans, and these specific plans required her to pace herself somewhat on the drinking front._

_She glanced at the clock and nearly cheered when she saw it was 16:55. At her home, she had misread her watch and panicked, convinced that she was going to be late. She had near flown around the flat, throwing on the first dress she found, and rushed to the dingy bar they had arranged to meet at. When she had plonked herself down in a seat she had let out an audible groan as she saw what the actual time was. He didn’t finish work until about 17:00, and so she had settled in for a long wait, glaring violently at anyone who dared try to approach her._

_Taking another sip, Gaby had let her thoughts drift to her plans for that evening. It was nearly two months to the day that she had met Viktor, and after a considerable amount of cajoling she had finally managed to convince him to come to her flat for “drinks”. She had worn him down, mostly by appealing to the downtime he clearly was in desperate need for. He had been tense and irritable the last time she had seen him, snapping like a wounded bear every time her teasing had struck a little too close to the bone, as it normally did. She had taken it personally until he had confessed that his job was causing him a lot of stress. She had hugged him then, feeling comically small against him, a wicked idea had come to her mind and she had risen onto her tiptoes to suggest that half a bottle of vodka would do wonders for his state of mind._

_Such serious drinking could not really occur in any official establishment. She had heard rumours that informants were stationed at all the major watering holes, watching and waiting for any drunken confessions or momentary lapses in judgement leading to prosecutable slander of the state. He had agreed with her assessment, and then it had simply been a matter of convincing him that her flat was a suitable alternative._

_She had tried to invite him to her home in the past but he had been surprisingly reluctant, usually finding an excuse at the last minute. She hoped he didn’t try to back out that evening, he had offered to supply the alcohol after making some uncomplimentary comments about the quality of German vodka, and she was looking forward to loudly proclaiming that she couldn’t taste the difference. Of course, drinking together was only going to be a small part of their evening if Gaby had her way. She had bought beautiful lace lingerie from the black market, the price had stung for a moment, but once she had put it on and taken some time to admire herself, she knew that it would be worth it just to see the look on his face. She was sure that it would be enough to melt away any lingering reluctance on his part to engage in intimacy._

_Feeling a hand suddenly slide onto her shoulder, she prepared a bright smile and flirty greeting as she spun around in her chair only to feel bitter disappointment as she saw a swaying dark haired man leering at her._

_“Pretty lady should not drink alone.” The man slurred and nearly collapsed into the seat next to her._

_“That seat is taken.” She said coldly._

_“No need to be so nasty, I’m just being sociable.” He swayed close to her, causing her lean back as she tried to avoid smelling his noxious breath._

_“Go be sociable somewhere else.” Seeing that the man was not moving, Gaby grabbed her bag and prepared to sit somewhere else, but she was halted by a surprisingly strong hand wrapping around her wrist and yanking her back._

_“You’ve been waiting a very long time. I don’t think your friend is coming, maybe you should spend some time with a man who will appreciate you.”_

_“She already is.” A voice behind her said in accented German._

_“Honey,” Gaby said brightly to the newly arrived Viktor, “you’re late!” She knew she was laying it on a little thick, but she hoped it would be enough to get their unwelcome friend to leave her alone._

_“My apologies, work overran a little.” He offered her his arm, which she gratefully took. Before they could quite escape, the drunk man decided to take a parting shot._

_“Fucking Russian. Why don’t you go home and sleep with your own kind, that is if you don’t get distracted by a goat on the way.” He laughed at his own crude joke._

_Stealing a glance up, Gaby could see that Viktor was not impressed at all, he looked deathly calm and his fingers that were resting on the bar counter had begun to drum against the surface. She had not seen him do this before, and so she knew it wasn’t an idle gesture he made. The drunk man looked as though he was going to say something else, and she quickly laid a restraining hand on Viktor’s arm, worried about what he might do if the man did not shut up._

_“Albert!” A newcomer squeezed past the couple to grab the drunk man. “Come on, you’ve had too much to drink. Leave these people alone.” The newcomer gave them a glance and after seeing the look on Viktor’s face, he spoke up again. “I’m sorry about him, his wife left him last week. He’s not coping well.” This declaration caused the man to burst into sobs as he was suddenly reminded of his recent sorrow._

_There was an immediate absence that Gaby noticed after the man was dragged away, and looking down at the counter she saw that Viktor’s fingers had stilled and were no longer making that strange, repetitive noise. The sight was surprisingly reassuring and she found herself releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding._

* * *

It takes two more slaps before Illya snaps and punches one of the men in the throat. She immediately leaps into action by placing herself in front of him and catching his wrists before he can do anything else.

“Illya, calm down!” His hands move to her waist to pull her slightly closer towards him, she takes the momentum and presses herself closer, her head leaning against his chest for a moment before she peeks back at the men. They begin to back away, and she knows that the final impression she has given them is of a scared woman clinging to her angry fiancée in terror. Despite the minor slip up, she knows that they are a convincing couple and she is reasonably certain that her Uncle Rudy will receive a favourable report. Once the men are gone, there is a slow clap from the darkness that they immediately turn towards.

“Wonderful performance Gaby,” Solo praises enthusiastically, “yours could have done with some work, Peril, but I guess subtlety has never been a strength for you.”

“They stole my father’s watch!” The Russian manages to say through gritted teeth, Gaby’s head jerks up at that and she feels a deep pang of sympathy for him. She speaks up quickly before another argument can break out between them.

“We’ve passed their test, we should probably head back to the hotel now. That’s what they would expect from a normal couple shaken by a late night mugging.” She knows Illya will need a little space after what has just happened, and he definitely needs to get away from Napoleon. For all his good points, the American is not a calming influence. Luckily, her argument is sound and both men nod silently in unison.

“Let me know if your uncle rings.” Solo says and melts back into the darkness. Alone again, she turns to the distressed agent.

“I’m sorry about your father’s watch.” She tentatively offers, but her sympathy does not seem to have much effect. He still looks miserable, not that she expects anything else so soon after the emotional blow.

“Thank you.” He says and returns her attempt at a comforting embrace. It takes a minute or two, but eventually she feels his hands stop trembling against her waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited it this and it grew by about 400 words compared to the fourth draft (fourth!! It wasn’t even the first draft!!). I put in a minor correction as the site where they get mugged is actually the Teatro di Marcello rather than the Colosseum like I thought, the theatre is about 10 minutes away from Spanish Steps. Thanks to rebelliousrose for the correction! Next chapter: Gaby finally gets Illya alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: “I’m sorry about your father’s watch.” She tentatively offers, but her sympathy does not seem to have much effect... “Thank you.” He says and returns her attempt at a comforting embrace. It takes a minute or two, but eventually she feels his hands stop trembling against her waist.

When they arrive back at the hotel, Gaby pauses in the doorway of their room to cast her gaze over the rich furnishings and polished marble surfaces, momentarily stunned by the opulence on display. The room is nearly the same size of her flat back in Berlin, and every item in it looks like it is probably worth more. She suddenly wonders who is funding their stay, she doubts the Soviets will have been willing to put up the expense so she assumes that it must have been the Americans. Glancing at Illya for a reaction, her theory loses some support as she notices that he is completely unfazed, suggesting that he may perhaps be used to such environments while on certain missions. That would also perhaps explain his strangely in depth knowledge of designer brands.

Now that they are finally alone, a thousand questions immediately come to mind that she wants answers for, and her only difficulty is trying to decide which one to ask first. She stands awkwardly behind him as she arranges a list by importance, and to her consternation he is busy examining a lamp when she finally comes to a decision.

“Is it okay if we talk? Or are you going to stare at that lamp all night?”

The words come out slightly harsher than she was intending but it is quite disconcerting that he is paying such attention to an object that is not used for entertainment nor is attractive enough to admire as a decorative piece. He turns to her as she speaks and rapidly shakes his head, she frowns in confusion until he raises a finger to his lips in a universal gesture and beckons her closer. It does not take her too long to identify the device that he has found on the inside of the lampshade, and she looks at him with alarm as she tries to figure out who is suspicious enough of their cover story to bug them. Slowly, he points at it and mouths a word at her. _American_. She rolls her eyes with a relieved smile as she realises it is probably nothing more than another feature of the pointless contest the two men are having.

Quietly, the Russian begins to turn the entire room over, locating more bugs as he does so. She stands there for a short while before she realises that, taking into account the size of the room, he is likely going to be doing this for a considerable amount of time. She curses Solo for stealing some of their already limited time together, but cannot find it in herself to get too angry at him. The American has no idea of their history, and she can’t even blame him for not trusting Illya when she considers the animosity between their respective governments.

While she waits for Illya to finish, she readies herself for bed, slowly stripping away the glamourous fiancée mask she has held in place all day. In the clothing shop, Illya had allowed her free reign over her lingerie and nightwear, and now she lays out her choices on the bed to help her make a decision over what she should change into. Had Illya been a total stranger the choice would have been obvious- the conservative pyjamas that cover most of her skin. But despite the lies, the label of stranger is not an accurate one, and if she wants to get answers from him there is a chance that the flimsy and short dark blue nightdress will do some of the convincing for her.

Gaby hears a sudden sound behind her as she unzips her dress and steps out of it. Looking over her shoulder she sees with some amusement that Illya now has his back firmly to her and is focussing on checking the other side of the room. She hides a small smile and pulls the nightdress over her head.

“I’m decent again.” She calls out wickedly, and holds back a laugh as he tries and fails to make a nonchalant sound in response.

As she waits for him to finish searching, she pulls out a magazine she picked up at the store earlier and slowly flicks her way through it, savouring each glossy page. She is halfway through it when Illya comes to sit next to her and begins the short process of deactivating each bug. Soon after, he unceremoniously drops the small pile of now useless technology into a decorative bowl on the table and leans back against the sofa.

She opens her mouth to begin the conversation she has been wanting to have when she hears the phone ring. She nearly swears in frustration, but she restrains herself. They have been expecting a call from her uncle, and the German reply to her generic greeting immediately tells her that their performance that night has been enough.

“How have you been enjoying your stay in Rome so far?” Rudi asked.

“Rome is beautiful, but more dangerous than I was expecting.” She confessed.

“Whatever do you mean?”

Her uncle is not as good of an actor as he thinks he is, but she relates the tale of the mugging anyway. She exaggerates slightly, adding extra dramatic flair to the tale, as someone might expect from a genuinely shaken victim. Her uncle makes all the appropriate sympathetic sounds, somehow still managing to sound disinterested as he enquires after her and Illya’s health. She keeps an eye on Illya as she speaks and watches as he retrieves and sets up a chess board. It is not really the joint activity she had been hoping for, but it is harmless enough and they can still talk while playing. She expects him to abandon the board once the pieces are in their starting position, but to her surprise he begins to play, turning the board after each turn so that he can play both sides. It is perplexing to watch so she turns her attention back to the phone call just as Rudi is telling her about the Vinciguerra 50th anniversary. She accepts the invitation on her and Illya’s behalf, and by the silence behind her she guesses that it was the correct thing to do. After saying her goodbyes, she hangs up and grabs a bottle of vodka from the bar, suspecting she will have to entertain herself until he finishes his game. There are other liqueurs available, but she isn’t in the mood to experiment.

“Did you hear all that?” She asks as she pours the clear liquid into a glass.

“Yes, we are going to see your uncle tomorrow at the Vinciguerra party.” He responds. She drains her glass in one short movement.

“Do you want one?” She waves a second empty glass at him, the movement catches his attention, but only for a moment before he turns back to look at the board again.

“No thank you, I need to concentrate tomorrow. We must convince your uncle.” He moves another piece as she pours herself another drink.

“Playing couple hasn’t exactly been difficult so far.” She points out, and is satisfied to see him redden slightly. “You should try to relax, have a drink.”

“I _am_ trying to relax.” His voice is anything but calm as he speaks, causing her to raise her eyebrows.

“It doesn’t seem to be working.” She practically sings as she saunters away, the first drink hits her like a comforting wave and with it comes the beginning of a plan as she stares at the record player. A fiendish grin lights up her face as she turns it on and moves the needle over to the record.

The sound of Solomon Burke’s voice fills the room, she takes a moment to sway on the spot to the music before spinning around and slowly dancing her way back to the table. He is comically hunched over, trying very hard to ignore both the music and her. She waits until she is standing beside him, her bare leg pressing against him.

“Dance with me.”

“Gaby…” He sighs.

“Chess doesn’t seem to be helping, maybe you should try dancing instead.”

“You are drunk, Gaby.” Illya says, not raising his eyes from the board. She sets her still full glass down on the board in one of the few empty spaces it will fit, the glass nudging two pieces out of the way and knocking a knight over.

“I’ve only had one. You know that I’m not _that_ much of a lightweight.” He stares strangely at the fallen knight and rises, gently pushing her out of his way.

“I am going to bed. You should too.” She wraps her arms around him before he can get past her, he smells of the cologne she bought him months ago and the familiarity of it is comforting.

“I don’t know why you won’t just dance with me.” Gaby says, voice slightly muffled by his shirt.

“I do not know why you _want_ to dance with me.” He replies, not responding to her embrace. His voice is laced with guilt, and she stills against him as she tries to think of something she can say that will prove to him that she has long since forgiven him.

“I told you that I missed you, did you not believe me?”

“No.” Before she can protest, he speaks again. “I lied, Gaby. About a lot of things.” She bites her lip as she wonders whether this is a confession of some kind. In the time they had spent apart she had considered possible reasons for him being in East Berlin other than the ones he had given her, but she had never fully let herself believe that he had been using her. Two of her questions come back to the forefront of her mind, and she bolsters her courage for the next few minutes.

“Were you spying on me?”

“No-” She cuts him off immediately.

“Were you using me as a cover?”

“No-”

“Then I don’t care. I don’t care that you’re KGB as long as your mission was the only thing you lied about.” She can’t hold it against him, not when she has her own equally damning secrets. She only hopes he will be equally as forgiving when he finds out she works for MI6.

Before she can consider the consequences, she leans up on her tiptoes and kisses him firmly, hands reaching up to wrap around his neck. She can tell by his reaction that he wasn’t expecting her to do that, even with her unsubtle flirting, and so it takes him a few moments to gather his wits enough to place his hands on her shoulders and push her away.

“This is not good idea.” He says hoarsely, and despite his words she knows she had won this fight. He may have pushed her away, but he didn’t push her far. His hands are still in place and he has made no move to get any further away from her. She takes a small step forward to eliminate the space between them, and she smiles when he makes no attempt to stop her.

“It isn’t a _bad_ idea.” She suggests. He gives her an unimpressed look, but kisses her back when she leans up a second time.

* * *

_Gaby was drunk and scared the first time she kissed Viktor._

_It had been three weeks since they had met, and she had managed to give little thought to him since the day he had collected his car, fully expecting never to see him again. Her days and mind were instead full of the usual- cars and wishful thoughts about the West. She had been relaxing at home with a bottle of wine one evening, when she had suddenly remembered the discrete package she had forgotten under her desk that day at work. One of her more frequent customers had delivered it that day, a little black market gift as a thank you for her speedy work on his car. A sudden panic overtook her as she realised that if one of her workers arrived the next morning earlier than her, they might find the forbidden record and report her._

_Despite her inebriated state and the late hour, she had immediately rushed off to the garage to retrieve it, and had breathed out an audible sigh of relief when she had found the package in the same position she had left it. She pulled away the brown paper to reveal the name of a popular American artist and grinned in appreciation, carefully putting the record into the large nondescript bag she had brought with her. After locking up again, she had turned to head home and nearly jumped a mile when she found herself facing the large Russian man._

_“Hi.” She managed to say, subtly moving the bag behind her._

_“What are you doing here?” He asked with a frown._

_“This is my business. What are_ you _doing here?” She said accusingly, making a poor attempt at deflecting the attention off of her._

_“I could not sleep, so I decided to take a walk.”_

_“Then walk.” She had decided to storm off dramatically, but a rock underfoot had put a stop to that and made her stumble. She might have fallen flat on her face, had it not been for his quick reflexes catching her elbow and pulling her back upright._

_“You are drunk.” He stated._

_“Is that a crime now? Are you going to report me?” She spat sarcastically._

_“Drinking is not a crime.” He acknowledged. “But owning the contents of that bag probably is.” He pointed to the bag at her side, it had fallen open slightly during her fall and now proudly revealed its contents, she felt her blood run cold as she realised the implications of his words._

_“What are you going to do?” She asked quietly, gripping so tightly on her bag that her knuckles turned white._

_“I am going to walk you home. It is not safe for you to be walking around at night.” His tone and facial expression revealed nothing of his intentions, and only caused her panic to increase. The unknown is always more terrifying than certainty, with certainty there is no chance for wiggle room or negotiation. The unknown is dangerous as it offers up even a meagre slimmer of hope that perhaps, if you do just the right thing, you might still escape what seems inevitable, and it was this hope that Gaby clung to._

_He gestured for her to lead the way, and after some hesitation she did, her heart hammering away in her chest as she wondered what he would do when they reached her flat. And as they walked, hope struck again as she thought about what she would be willing to do to avoid imprisonment._

_When they reached the door of her building, Gaby took a deep breath and promptly flung herself at him. She kissed him with the desperation of a woman trying to save her skin. It lasted for a second or two before she was abruptly pushed back a few steps, a restraining hand quickly catching her wrist to stop her from falling. Once she was steady, he let go as though her touch repulsed him._

_“I am not going to report you, Miss Schmidt.” He looked rather insulted by her attempt to persuade him to keep her secret._

_“I’m sorry, I just thought…” She felt the tears sting at her eyes. “I’m so sick of being scared.”_

_“You have nothing to fear from me, regardless of what you might think.”_

_The barb was barely concealed. He had clearly figured out the reason she didn’t like him and was decidedly displeased about her prejudice. Her head bowed in shame as she realised that she had judged him too harshly for circumstances beyond his control._

_“Goodnight, Miss Schmidt.” She watched him retreat to the street, wanting nothing more than to apologise again but unable to find the words to excuse her actions._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well the flashback prompt I gave myself of ‘Gaby first kisses Illya when she is drunk’ took an unexpectedly angsty turn. We reach the halfway point next time (not including flashback summary chapter). Next chapter (30th August): Gaby and Illya meet Rudi.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: She takes a small step forward to eliminate the space between them, and she smiles when he makes no attempt to stop her. “It isn’t a bad idea.” She suggests. He gives her an unimpressed look, but kisses her back when she leans up a second time.

“Is Illya Kuryakin your real name?” Gaby asks sleepily, not bothering to raise her head from his surprisingly comfortable shoulder. It is the morning of the day they are due to meet her uncle, but neither of them are feeling particularly inclined to getting up. A few of her questions have finally been answered, but she hadn’t been in the mood for interrogation so there is much about him that continues to be a mystery. She still knows nothing about his family or his background. He had always avoided the subject when they were first together, at the time she had assumed it was a delicate topic for him and she suspects it still is.

“It is.” He confirms freely, one hand idly playing with her hair. “You lied about your last name as well, so you cannot hold that against me.”

“I’ll try not to.” She replies drily, but is pleased to know at least one fact about him.

She sits up after extricating herself from the tangle of limbs and yawns, looking around the room to see if she can locate her nightdress. She eventually finds it laying on the floor, several feet away from the bed where it had been haphazardly thrown hours previously. She briefly debates the merits of getting up, and eventually decides that no matter how much she doesn’t want to, they still have a job to do and she needs to get out of bed to do it. She stands up and walks over to the blue puddle of fabric, shivering a little as the cool early morning air suddenly hits her warm skin. She slips the nightdress back on, and walks over to a mirror to see how bad the damage is. She grimaces at the image staring back at her and begins to fix the utter mess her hair has become sometime during the night. A creak behind her indicates that Illya has followed her cue to get up, her focus slips from her hair to his reflection as he approaches and presses a light kiss to her neck.

“I am going to shower.” He tells her, she nods and turns to face him.

“I’ll order breakfast.” He leans down to chastely press his lips to hers before heading off to the adjoining bathroom.

When he returns, they eat breakfast together. If it weren’t for the sun streaming through the windows and their surroundings, it could have easily been a morning back in East Berlin. It is an easy habit to fall back into, but she doesn’t allow herself to forget where they are and what their purpose is. She is chewing on a piece of croissant when another question comes to her mind, one she has been wanting to ask since she woke up that morning. Feeling her eyes on him, Illya meets her gaze over his cup of coffee.

“What is it?” She sets aside her breakfast and shuffles uncomfortably.

“I was wondering, what’s going to happen when this mission is over?” At her question, he puts down his coffee and looks at her frankly as he delivers his response.

“I will have to return to Russia, Cowboy will go back to America, and you will be free to choose where you go.” She bites her lip, she had thought as much but it is quite another thing to hear it out loud. She won’t go back across the wall, and he knows her well enough not to ask it of her.

“We have a few days at least, I would assume.” He nods.

“I am sorry I cannot give you more.” Her only reply is a sad smile. She has made this bed for herself, and she knows she will have to lie in it, even if it breaks her heart. There is a small pause, as he seemingly hesitates to speak further.

“Is there something else?” She asks.

“It would be wise if we kept this,” he gestures between them, “to ourselves. If anyone finds out…” He trails off.

“Don’t worry,” she says, reaching out to place her hand on his, “I understand.” And she does, if the KGB finds out he is close to her they will either punish him or find a way to turn it to their advantage. She believed him when he told her he had no ulterior motive when they began their relationship, and she accepts the astronomical coincidence that he was the agent sent after her. He was, after all, familiar with the area and thus a sensible choice for the KGB to send. But she would not be quite so trusting if they mysteriously reunited again after this mission.

A few hours later, Gaby is waiting impatiently by the car for Illya to return. He had left after breakfast to perform an errand of some kind, and no matter how much she pestered he would not tell her what the errand was for. As her patience runs out, she sees him approach.

“You’ve been gone a long time.” She says testily. Their earlier conversation is still making its rounds through her mind and has not put her in the best of moods. Her annoyance doesn’t seem to have much effect on him and he gives her a mysterious smile.

“Maybe I get you present.” At her incredulous look, he holds out both his fists, clearly with the intention that she should choose one. She picks wrong, but he takes her hand and slides the ring on her finger anyway. The primary thing she notices about it is that it is completely different from the first ring he gave her, dark where the other one was light. The small gift lightens her mood considerably until a strong dose of reality suddenly hits her.

“I wouldn’t be wearing my engagement ring,” she says sadly, “I told my uncle it had been stolen.” She makes a move to take it off, but his hand stops her.

“Your fiancée would have gone out first thing in the morning to replace it.” His carefully thought out logic does make sense and she finds herself smiling at his practicality. “And now we are engaged, again.” She almost hits him for that comment, but settles for letting him open the car door for her.

* * *

_With hindsight it was clear that their relationship was doomed from the beginning. He gave her hints of this, in his own way. In the six months they knew each other, the only gifts he gave her were perishables: flowers that would wither and die after a few days, boxes of sweets that she would eat, and bottles of whisky or vodka or whatever she felt like that she would drink. No jewellery or practical gifts, like a normal lover might give. At the time she had not really noticed, accepting each treat with near child-like enthusiasm. It was only when he said his final goodbye that she realised that the only proof she had that he had been in her life were dead flowers and empty containers._

* * *

Arriving at the racecourse, the first person Gaby sees is her uncle. He has not changed much since she last saw him, with the exception of a few extra wrinkles. He smiles as he opens the car door and embraces her. She is slightly taken aback by the sudden, unexpected show of affection, but she quickly remembers her role and hugs him back.

“It’s been too long.” She says to him. She is aware of Illya approaching from the other side of the car, and the ridiculousness of the situation suddenly strikes her. Here she is, trying to convince her uncle that the KGB agent by her side is actually her fiancée, while being in a relationship with the same man. She is so distracted by the sudden bubble of near-hysterical amusement that she almost misses the first sentence to pass between the two men.

“You are a miracle worker, sir. I want to hear all about how you managed to get her out.”

Rudi sounds surprisingly respectful, but instead of feeling reassured she feels wary. From what little she knows about him, she suspects that he will not be pleased with her choice of fiancée. Once they are settled somewhere comfortable to watch the race, Rudi begins to ask his questions, clearly testing their cover story for any holes.

“Tell me, how does a Russian architect meet a car mechanic in East Berlin?” He asks, and Illya begins to deliver the carefully crafted story he had drilled her on in the car journey there.

“Well it started when I was brought out to make improvement on nine kilometres of the wall. And one morning I was coming home and-”

“He rear-ended a tank.” Gaby supplies with a smile, it had been one of the few contributions she had made to their story. Illya looks down at her affectionately, every inch the adoring fiancée.

“That is when I met the most expensive mechanic in East Germany.” She entwines their fingers together, and looks back at Rudi, almost daring him to doubt their authenticity.

“And did they make you build the wall as well as design it? You’re shaped like a power-lifter not an architect.” Rudi says, directing all his attention to Illya. This is not a question they’ve prepared for, but her fake fiancée recovers quickly.

“I like to jog.” Rudi raises a sceptical eyebrow at his response.

“He jogs every morning,” Gaby adds, “it drives me mad, but the results are worth it.” She sends a dazzling smile in his direction as she speaks. Her uncle looks slightly more satisfied, but still not totally convinced. She bites back further embellishments to Illya’s supposed morning routine, sure that if she says anymore he will be able to sense the hasty cover-up.

“Now tell me, when did this happy accident occur?” Another test, but one that is considerably easier to pass.

“Two years ago.”

“Two years ago?” Rudi repeats in disbelief.

“Yes.” She confirms.

“And you never wrote to your Uncle Rudi about it?”

“I wanted to make sure it was serious.” The lie comes easily, it is the same reason she never wrote to him about Viktor, even when she was fairly certain their relationship was more than a simple fling. Had they been together longer, this conversation might have been considerably more difficult. There would have been questions about the ‘other’ Russian man in her life. Rudi takes a small step forward, and says his next question slightly more quietly, so the people near them will not hear.

“Or were you perhaps ashamed?” There was the trap she had been waiting for, and she can see the man beside her suddenly stiffen in offense.

“Why would she be ashamed?” This is dangerous territory, and the only thing she can do is lay a restraining hand on his shoulder, a gesture that does not go unnoticed by either man. After the incident with the thieves, Gaby has a slightly better idea of the delicate nature of Illya’s temper- he does not take insults with any kind of grace. She can almost see the smirk her uncle is trying to conceal as he further prods at the weak spot he has discovered.

“I know that the purity of aristocratic blood is not appreciated by most communists, but a good German girl knows to never mix the blood of a racehorse with that of a common horse.” The same unnatural stillness she has observed at the Colosseum and at the bar several months previously, returns to Illya now. And it is with some desperation that she attempts to smooth things over.

“Rudi, that’s not a very nice thing to say.” Her uncle snorts in derision.

“Don’t be so protective. I’m sure he can defend himself.” She feels a sudden burst of anxiety as Illya sharply turns towards her, wondering what he is about to do.

“Excuse me.” It is with some relief that she watches him walk away, until she stops to consider what he might do once out of the eyesight and earshot of their target. She doesn’t get the chance to dwell on the subject for too long as her uncle turns his attention to her and abruptly switches languages.

“I am sorry my dear.” There is no sincerity in his voice, she takes a small breath and focusses on their reason for being there.

“There is a way you can make it up to me.” She replies, putting aside her irritation in order to try to get some answers about her father.

“Oh, how so?” His confusion does not seem genuine, she is sure he already knows what she wants to ask.

“You could tell me where my father is, I’ve heard that he is in Europe at the moment.” She says, and he lets out a slightly dramatic sigh.

“Your father is a fugitive. A hunted man. He’d be very foolish to be anywhere in Europe.” She does not let his response deter her.

“But if there were any way to reach him? His only daughter is getting married after all.” He reaches out to cover her hand with his, and it takes a considerably amount of self-control for her to stop herself from flinching at the sudden contact.

“Gaby I feel for you, as I would for my own child. But I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

Before she can press him any further on the subject, she sees Napoleon approaching, accompanied by a woman she does not recognise. She wonders if this is Victoria Vinciguerra, the other person being targeted on this mission.

“Victoria, this is my Gaby.” Clearly relieved at the reprieve, Rudi makes the introductions.

“The famous niece.” Victoria comments, and moves forward so the two ladies can exchange perfumed kisses on each cheek. Gaby catches Solo’s questioning look as she leans forward, but she cannot explain Illya’s absence to him while they are surrounded by other people. Victoria introduces the two men to each other, and they shake hands, Gaby carefully watching her uncle for any trace of suspicion.

“What brings you to Rome, Mr Devani?” Rudi asks. It is an innocent enough question, and one that Solo has no difficulty answering.

“Just seeing the sites.” Her uncle does not question him further, but a quick glance at Victoria reveals that Solo has likely given her another story to explain his presence in the eternal city.

“Rudi!” It takes a lot for her to maintain careful control of her expression when she hears the familiar voice behind her, although now she realises that she should have expected him to turn up. Her uncle and her boss exchange friendly greetings, and Rudi then introduces Waverly as a manager of the shipping department of another company.

“I am sorry I am so late, Rudi, I stupidly seem to have lost my invitation.” She isn’t sure if she imagines it, but Solo pales ever so slightly when he sees the former MI6 agent. She wonders if he recognises him from his time with the CIA, it was not something she had considered when she first saw Waverly in that hotel reception. Solo gives his fake name and they shake hands.

“Yes, yes I think we bumped into each other outside.” Waverly says. Gaby nearly groans out loud when she realises what might have happened. Of _all_ the people to steal an invitation from.

“I do apologise.”

“No, not at all, not at all. I noticed you’re very good with your hands.” The accusation is a little blunt for Waverly and she can see Solo stumble a little as he realises that his sleight of hand did not go unnoticed.

“Excuse me!”

“I witnessed your trick with the tablecloth. That’s brilliant. Were you once a waiter, or…” She doesn’t know what he is talking about, but Solo clearly does and visibly relaxes. She thinks Solo may believe he has had a lucky escape, but she knows Waverly enough to realise he is playing with the American.

One of the racers suddenly drives up and stops beside them, and begins shouting at a nearby race car mechanic. The words go over everyone else’s heads but Gaby pays close attention, particularly when she sees Solo closely examine the man in the car. Seeing an opportunity to show her usefulness, she interrupts their conversation to ask a question about the carburetor jets. The other mechanic looks insulted by her audacity to speak up on the subject.

“Oh really, you want to fix it?” She takes off her sunglasses and gives the engine a brief glance.

“I’d be delighted.”

Moving closer, she sees the problem and requests a wrench. She sees the appreciative glance the Italian gives her legs, but ignores him in favour of fixing the engine. If Rudi will not help her find her father, maybe this man will. Once the race is over the Italian approaches her, all smiles and unsubtle flirtations. His offer of ambiguous help is almost expected.

“You can see the future?” She asks, playing dumb.

“I can see us having lunch tomorrow… alone.” She should be shocked at how blatant he is being for a married man, but after seeing how his wife was eyeing Solo she cannot really be surprised. Before she can graciously decline, Illya suddenly reappears by her side.

“Darling, time to go.” He throws a quick glance at the Italian. “Sorry.” She doesn’t think he could sound less sincere if he tried, he looks like he is in a rush and she wonders what he has done that necessitates such a speedy getaway. Mostly she wants to know who or what he has taken his anger out on, he looks calmer than when he left her with Rudi.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just be a minute.” He shakes his head.

“Now.” He more or less begins dragging her away.

“What are you doing?!” She hisses.

“Another time perhaps.” The Italian calls out as they leave. As they pass by Uncle Rudi she forces Illya to stop.

“Leaving so soon?” Rudi asks.

“Illya isn’t feeling very well.” Gaby supplies the explanation. “However we’ve had a wonderful time. Thank you, Uncle Rudi.” It is the only thing she has the time to say before Illya speeds off again, pulling her along with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway point! I quite liked this chapter, apart from having to use tons of film dialogue. Most of the scenes coming up do involve film dialogue, but I’m trying to break them up a little with other scenes. Next chapter (2nd September): Gaby finds something to occupy the time while the boys break into a factory.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: “Leaving so soon?” Rudi asks. “Illya isn’t feeling very well.” Gaby supplies the explanation. “However we’ve had a wonderful time. Thank you, Uncle Rudi.” It is the only thing she has the time to say before Illya speeds off again, pulling her along with him.

Their drive back to the hotel is in almost total silence, neither of them trusting the driver enough to speak freely. Looking over her lover, Gaby does notice that Illya seems to have calmed down from their altercation with her uncle, and she can’t help but wonder where his sudden peace has come from. She doubts there was a chessboard available at the party.

“Are you feeling okay?” She asks, hoping he will say something to assuage her curiosity.

“Yes.” He says tersely.

He shifts slightly, and the movement draws her gaze down to his hands and consequentially to his slightly bruised knuckles. They were unblemished when she had woken up that morning to find his arm draped across her waist. He catches her looking and at least has the grace to look slightly guilty, though she notes he doesn’t try to give her an explanation. She wonders who was on the receiving end of his bad mood, and whether this is the usual way in which he resolves his anger problems.

Not for the first time, Gaby wishes she had access to his file, she is sure that somewhere it explains the oddity of his temper. She is tempted to ask Solo, but fears that such underhandedness would do more harm than good. Illya might not take it well if she discussed his mental state with someone he seemed to dislike. She considers that it might have something to do with the father whose watch he values so dearly, and it hurts her that she knows so little about his family. He had never mentioned a mother or father when they were together, usually finding a way to divert the subject to something else. She had not pursued it at the time since she had her own problematic relations she did not want to discuss, but now he knows about them and she is just as in the dark about his as ever.

As soon as they arrive back at their hotel room, he makes a beeline to the bathroom with his camera. She very nearly makes an inappropriate remark about what exactly he is going to take a photo of in there, but manages to bite her tongue. He is not quick to return, and she finds herself distractedly trying to read her newspaper while ignoring all the strange sounds coming from the room he is working in. She brightens when she eventually hears the sound of a doorknob turning, but to her disappointment it is the front door of their room and it is shortly followed by the appearance of their American partner.

“Where is Peril?” Solo asks, glancing around as though the giant would suddenly emerge from behind the couch.

“He’s been in there half an hour.” She responds, gesturing towards the bathroom. Right on cue, there is another bang from the room. Solo cautiously walks over and knocks, leaning his head close to try to listen to what Illya was doing.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time in bathrooms recently.” Solo notes aloud. “Apparently you put someone called Count Lippi in hospital.” Gaby lays her newspaper down at that, and immediately turns to the still closed door for a refutation.

“He had soft bones.” Illya admits without an ounce of shame or regret. “And don’t question my methods.”

“What’s he done?” She asks Solo, he at least knew who Illya had attacked so chances were he knew more information which Illya was unlikely to divulge anytime soon.

“Super-agent here decided to have some fun with three young Italian boys in the men’s room.” She rolls her eyes as she realises that must have been how he diffused all the anger her uncle had caused with his careless comments.

“They had it coming,” is the callous response from behind the door.

“You need to control your temper.” Gaby says, slightly exasperated at his cavalier attitude.

“Your new boyfriend is a Nazi.” He responds childishly. She nearly sighs and contents herself with raising her eyes to the ceiling and praying to something, anyone, to give her the strength to deal with him.

“How did you find Alexander Vinciguerra?” Solo asks, looking amused at their back and forth.

“I fixed his car,” she succinctly summarises, “he offered me a job and made advances towards me.”

“Still a Nazi.” She doesn’t bother responding this time, despite her current annoyance at him for his general bone-headedness she is still slightly entertained by the revelation of his jealous streak. She has never seen him so threatened, and she suspects it may be because in the past other men have never dared to flirt with her in his presence.

“Do you think he is dangerous?” Solo asks more seriously.

“I don’t know.” She admits. “The most dangerous thing I witnessed was his poor attempt at committing adultery.” The door to the bathroom suddenly opens and Illya emerges, bathed in red light.

“Look at this,” he says to Solo, showing him a photo. “This film I am using has been treated to be sensitive to gamma radiation. This blurred line means they have been in proximity with radioactive material in the last 24 hours, which means they have succeeded in enriching the uranium. We need to move quicker.”

“Tell you what,” Solo says, plucking the photo from his grip. “I’m going to go sleep on this.”

Illya looks at him in disbelief, but the American quickly leaves the room before he can begin another argument. Illya mutters something in Russian, Gaby can only assume it is a string of insults, and for a moment he looks so adorably petulant that her irritation with him evaporates. She coughs until she gets his attention, and once he is looking at her she gives him a grin and pats the seat next to her. He comes over to sit obediently and lets her climb into his lap, his arms encircling around her once she is comfortable. She immediately detaches one arm so she can more closely his wounds.

“Why did you attack those Italians?” She asks, gently moving her thumb over his knuckles.

“They were rude and I was angry.” He replies simply, as though it was normal behaviour to send people to hospital for impoliteness.

“I understand that, but your response seemed a little… extreme.”

“Perhaps.” She sees his hesitation, and she waits patiently in the hope that he will trust her enough to confide in her, and after some time he does. “Sometimes when I get angry,” he says slowly, “I lose control until I break something or hurt someone.” She can tell he is not proud of his admission, and so she tries to keep her questions as tactful as possible.

“How long has this been going on for?”

“Since I was eleven.” She jerks in surprise, a response he seems to misunderstand judging by his next few words. “I would never hurt you.” He immediately insists.

“I know you wouldn’t.” Gaby is quick to say, and she shuffles nearer to him in defiance of the idea that he might. He has never been anything but gentle with her, something she has always found odd considering his sheer size and physicality. She searches around for a change in subject, and when she finds one she looks straight at him, one of her hands toying with his bowtie. “So do you think I should go to lunch with Vinciguerra, I might be able to gather some intelligence.”

“Absolutely not. He’s a Nazi.” He said immediately, tightening his grip on her wait.

“You’ve said that three times now.” She lets him know. “You should probably keep your jealousy under control or Napoleon will think you’ve formed an attachment to me.”

“I am _not_ jealous.”

“You are.” She continues before he can protest. “You shouldn’t be though, I like you more.” He kisses her at that, his lips moving softly against hers. It is a little too innocent for her and she presses herself closer to deepen the kiss. Her breath hitches as she feels one of his hands move up her leg and come to a stop at the hem of her dress. Annoyed at the halt, she makes an irritated sound and tries to move his hand up further, but he resists and ends the kiss.

“I have to work.” He says to her disappointment.

“What do you need to do?”

“Break into the Vinciguerra factory to look for the bomb.” He tells her bluntly.

“That’s more important, isn’t it?” The question is rhetorical, but he nods sadly anyway. She lets out a dissatisfied sigh, and releases him. “Well go on then, but don’t forget that you owe me when you get back.” And she fully intends to collect.

“I will not.” He picks her up from his lap and sets her back on the chair, pointedly looking away as she readjusts her clothes back into place. He changes his own quickly into something darker and more appropriate for sneaking around at night, not caring that she shamelessly ogles him as he does so. Heading over to the twin beds they had shoved together at some point, he retrieves some tools from his suitcase and gives her a quick kiss goodbye. She resists the urge to try to persuade him not to go, and waves as he departs, hair mussed from their brief moment of intimacy.

“Play nicely with Napoleon.” She calls as he opens the door, he gives her a dirty look and shuts the door behind him.

Illya had been gone for half an hour when the phone in the room begins to ring. She had been entertaining herself with some of the records in the room, and when the music was suddenly interrupted she rushes to turn the device off so she can answer it. She has her suspicions as to the identity of the caller, and they are confirmed by the voice that replies to her generic greeting.

“Bar across the street, ten minutes.” The caller hangs up straight after delivering her message, not even waiting for a confirmation.

It would not take her ten minutes to reach the bar, something Gaby is grateful for since she had thrown on Illya’s discarded shirt and thus was not suitably attired for a meeting with her boss. She quickly puts on a new dress, one that is less conspicuous than the green and white dress she had been wearing that day, and she conceals as much of her features as possible with a hat and a large pair of sunglasses. Leaving the hotel, she heads straight to the meeting place and sits in a concealed corner, nursing a small drink. She hasn’t been waiting long when Waverly joins her, similarly disguised. He too has a drink for appearances sake, and a briefcase in his other hand.

“Some light reading for you.” He says handing over two chunky files from the case.

She pushes the top file to the side so she can read the title of both. ‘Napoleon Solo, CIA’ and ‘Illya Kuryakin, KGB’. Her earlier wish has come true, even if it isn’t under ideal circumstances. Knowing that she is still under the scrutiny of Waverly, she picks Napoleon’s file first and flicks through it. The contents are not too surprising, she knew that Solo was a womanizing thief and the file only confirms it. The fact that he was an only child in a household of women does go some way to explain his behaviour. She lingers on unimportant details of his life and his arrest, knowing that she needs to spend approximately equal amounts of time on both files. Once she feels she has spent long enough learning about her American partner she sets aside his file and picks up the remaining one, its weight seeming heavier in her hands even though both files are roughly the same size.

She skips the pages about Illya’s military service and known missions, and heads straight to the section devoted to personal information. The first page of interest she finds is one on his family, and she hesitates at the top of the main paragraph, concerned that she should really hear this from Illya himself. She reminds herself that he may not get the chance to tell her and she forces herself to read it, taking the time to go through each sentence while carefully maintaining her impassionate expression. It is more difficult to control herself that she thought as she had never imagined Illya’s childhood had been so full of hardship. She is struck by the similarity between their fathers, both of whom were sent away when they were young. At least she had the benefit of a foster family and the anonymity of a brand new last name. He had none of those advantages, and had to bear the shame of his father’s actions and his mother’s reputation for the rest of his life.

The adjacent page looks more like a medical record, and she almost moves straight past it until the words ‘psychotic episodes’ jump out at her. Reading it over, she finds a detailed description of the rages she has now been witness to three times. The triggers are listed, and as she suspected most of them are in some way related to his pride. Insults to his family or to himself are the main reasons given for the attacks. She blanches as she reads an incident report that describes one of those rages, the first recorded, occurring at the age of thirteen. She knows it was not the first attack since Illya had already told her that day he had suffered from them since he was eleven. This one in particular resulted in the hospitalisation of five much older teens, one of whom had reportedly called Illya’s mother a whore. It appeared the rest of the boys had only been punished for not getting out of the way. The incident had caught the attention of recruiters at the KGB, mostly because of the ease with which child Illya had managed to take down a superior number of larger opponents, and they had carefully overseen his education and military career until they felt he was experienced enough to be transferred to the spy agency. It appeared to have been a very good investment, judging by his success rate.

“Interested in the Russian?” Waverly asks. She keeps her expression neutral and looks at him levelly as she delivers her response.

“I’m sharing a room with him, I have every right to be interested.” The insinuation that she is concerned for her safety appears to be enough of an explanation. He inclines his head in understanding and allows her to continue without further interruption. Had she the luxury of privacy, she could have spent at least an hour or two going through the file, but she can sense Waverly’s impatience. She places it back down and pushes both back towards him, allowing him to return them to his briefcase.

“I have reason to believe that your uncle is ready to make a move and allow you to reunite with your father.” Direct and straight to business, she has always admired that quality in him. Even when he was recruiting her, he had cut straight to the chase and explained his motivations, end goals, and the rewards she would be given should she cooperate.

“When do you think he will make contact?”

“Later this evening, I have arranged a few distractions to allow us to have this conversation without fear of you missing his phone call. I suspect you will receive the call within ten to twenty minutes of returning to your room.”

“What do you want me to do when he calls?”

“ _If_ he calls about a meeting, I want you to ring room 304 and inform me. Inform your partners as well, of course omitting that I am involved.”

“Of course.” She repeats, and he leans forward slightly, as though to ensure he has her total attention.

“The Vinciguerras are suspicious, if the meeting does go ahead you should make a gesture so that they know they can trust you, otherwise they may not lead you to your father.” A frown slightly distorts her features.

“Why would they be suspicious? We’ve been so careful.”

“You have done very well so far.” Waverly assures her. “But Victoria Vinciguerra is no fool, and Agent Solo for all his talents does lack subtlety when the occasion does not call for quick hands. He has also made the foolhardy decision to try to break into the Vinciguerra factory tonight, and I have no doubt that the eventual discovery of a break in will make the targets further paranoid.”

“Kuryakin has gone to the factory as well.” Gaby reveals, anxiousness lending her voice a slight tremble, Waverly nods acceptingly.

“I had my suspicions he would, and his incident with the Italian men in the bathroom has not been ignored.” At her enquiring gaze, Waverly elaborates. “One of the men managed to give a description of their attacker, there were not many giants attending the anniversary celebrations so I’m sure Victoria can put two and two together.”

“What kind of gesture should I make?” Gaby asks, avoiding his gaze. She already knows the answer, it is the only one that would make sense under the circumstances and prove her loyalty to Rudy.

“I do not think I have to spell it out.” He all but confirms.

“But what if-” He interrupts before she can list out all the things she is worried about.

“They are both highly competent agents,” he reminds her, “I am sure they will be fine. At any rate, the listening device in your ring should at least give Kuryakin plenty of time to make his escape and go assist Solo if necessary.” She stares at him in disbelief.

“He bugged me?” She asks incredulously.

“He bugs everyone, my dear.” Her momentary outrage does not last long as she realises that she really should have expected it, although now she thinks about it she wonders whether he bugged her back in East Berlin. She really hopes not as she dreads to think of what he might have heard on those nights he had not returned to her flat with her.

Waverly speaks up again, interrupting her thoughts, she is grateful for the dim lighting of the bar otherwise he might question why she has the complexion of a ripe tomato. “That is everything, you should leave by the back door. I will follow in five minutes.” She quickly drains her drink, and nods in farewell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing another 'The Man from UNCLE' fic- I've already written 16 chapters . I'm not posting until I have finished writing. The next few chapters of this are a bit shorter than previous ones. My target length for each chapter is about 2000 words, but past chapters have lengthened considerably with edits (reaching 3000 words), the next few are much closer to 2000 words. Next chapter (6th September): Illya gets back from the factory.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: “They are both highly competent agents,” he reminds her, “…At any rate, the listening device in your ring should at least give Kuryakin plenty of time to make his escape and go assist Solo if necessary.”… Waverly speaks up again… “That is everything, you should leave by the back door. I will follow in five minutes.”

Once Gaby returns to her room, she eyes the phone warily as though expecting it to ring immediately. She fears that Waverly’s men may have failed and that the call will have happened while she was stuck in the meeting, if so she may have to conjure up some reason for both her and Illya’s absence. A few excuses come to mind, but not anything appropriate to tell an uncle. The continued silence from the bedside table is neither reassuring nor worrying, but she forces herself to relax and prepare for bed, this time putting on the full length pyjamas. She wants to be comfortable more than she wants to be alluring tonight, her conversation with Waverly has soured her evening’s plans.

She is sitting in bed reading her magazine again when the phone call happens. She lets the first two rings go unanswered in order to avoid appearing overeager, and picks up on the third. “Hello?” She says cautiously into the mouthpiece.

“I hope I’m not calling too late.” Rudi replies in German.

“Not at all, I was reading.” She sets down the magazine to concentrate on the conversation head.

“Wonderful to see you today, but I fear that I was rude to your fiancée. I’d like to apologise to him, personally.” Glancing over at the empty bed, she feels a sudden pang of worry for the Russian, and wonders whether Rudi has been told to check in on them.

“He’s asleep.” He makes an unsatisfied noise.

“Gaby, I would like to take you to lunch tomorrow. Just the two of us. There are some things I would like to discuss with you. I’ll pick you up at twelve.” Just as Waverly had said, there could be no confusing what this meeting would be about. She agrees and hangs up the phone, taking a moment to breathe before picking it back up again and calling reception.

“Room 304 please.” The receptionist connects her to Waverly’s room. “The meeting is confirmed.” She says simply, he acknowledges the message with a reminder of what they had discussed and they both immediately terminate the call.

She hunches in on herself on the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them close. Tomorrow she will betray two people, possibly to their deaths, and the thought fills her with shame. Illya had been so guilty about his own lies, and she can’t imagine the rage he will go into when he hears her selling him out to the Vinciguerras. But she needs to put aside her personal feelings, this is bigger than their relationship. If the Vinciguerras succeed in starting world war three, many more lives will be lost than just the two spies.

Her miserable thoughts are interrupted by the door slamming open and shut, and Illya running into the room and diving under the bed to look for something.

“What’s going on?” She asks bewildered.

“Where’s my case?” She helps him look for it, and once he finds it he tears it open and pulls out a device with a receiver antennae. There is no sound coming from it, so he adjusts the settings and points the antennae to the ceiling. She realises what he is doing when she remembers Napoleon has the room directly over theirs.

“You bugged him?” She isn’t sure why she’s surprised at this point.

“He tried to bug me.” Eventually he finds the correct setting, and the sounds that emerge from the device are in no way ambiguous.

“Doesn’t sound like he needs your help.” She says as he turns the device off.

The incident has at least had the advantage of cheering her up a little, and it is nice to know that Solo is enjoying what is potentially his last night on earth. When the adrenaline finally wears off, she notices the state Illya is in. He is totally drenched in water, his hair sticking to his head and his clothes still letting an occasional drop of water drip to the floor.

* * *

_Gaby could hear the music of the rain as she worked on the underside of a car. The sound of each drop hitting the roof of the garage formed a pretty little song for her to listen to. She appeared to be the only one appreciating the weather as she heard plenty of customers returning to retrieve their cars and cursing as they tried to shake off the worst of the damp. She felt a slight sadistic satisfaction at the knowledge that anyone walking around that day without appropriate protection was going to be wet through. Several metres away she heard the sound of two men talking, but it was too far away for her to distinguish what they said._

_“Miss Schmidt?” An accented voice said above her. Her good mood immediately soured as she realised it was the Russian from the previous week. She used her feet to propel herself out from under the car, the wheeled board under her slid smoothly over the floor._

_“Yes?” She asked impatiently, glaring at him as she realised that he was dripping all over the floor. For the moment she allowed her prejudices to help her forget the floor was filthy in order to allow her to feel proper indignation. The rain clearly had not spared him, but it didn’t appear to bother him._

_“Is my car ready?” She dropped her wrench with an annoyed sigh and stood up, brushing the dust off her overalls. She marched off to another area of the building, not bothering to tell him to follow her. He did anyway, not apparently needing a prompt to tell him that she is taking him to his car._

_“The problem was minor.” She said, not bothering to conceal her boredom. “It took five minutes to fix, you could have done it yourself instead of wasting my time.”_

_“I know nothing of cars, I would have made the problem worse. How much do I need to pay you?” She quoted him an extortionate price, irritated that he was still totally unruffled._

_“That is a lot of money for five minutes of work.” He noted aloud. Feeling a stab of irritation, she opened her mouth to give him a piece of mind, but closed it again when he counted out the full amount and handed it over. She felt a pinprick of guilt as she accepted the notes. “You do not like me.” He said as he put away his wallet. “I would like to know why.”_

_“That’s ridiculous.” She lied. “I don’t have any feelings about you, positive or negative. You’re a customer.”_

_“I have met you twice, and each time you have been very impolite. I wish to know if I have done something to offend you.” She realised with some shame that she had been blaming all the faults of a nation on one of its inhabitant._

_“It’s nothing you’ve done.”_

_“Then what is it?” He looked at her unflinchingly, expecting a clear cut answer. She is suddenly struck by how very blue his eyes are. Very Aryan, her mind supplied bitterly, reminding her of the crimes of her blood relatives._

_“Nothing.” She examined the small pile of notes in her hands and quickly counted out roughly half of it, which she held out to him. “I’m in a bad mood, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I charged you unfairly.” He made no move to accept the money._

_“The expense is no concern, I would have paid that much to have it finished so quickly, considering you are so busy.” She cannot stop the flush that creeps up her neck. He did pull his wallet out again, but this time to retrieve a small card. “I appreciate that you managed to fix my car on time, if there is a favour I can do for you in return, please contact me.”_

_She took the card he gave to her and saw it was a business card, listing his name, phone number and the business he worked at. She shoved it quickly in her back pocket and handed over his keys. She just wanted him to leave as quickly as possible so she could forget all about him. But once he had left, she didn’t feel relieved, only more miserable. She couldn’t even bring herself to be annoyed by the trail of water he had left in his wake._

* * *

“You’re wet through!” Gaby says. “What on earth happened?”

“I fell into large body of water.” Illya tells her simply, the redness slowly rising from the neck of his shirt prevents her from accepting this story at face value.

“How did that happen? Did Solo push you?” He shakes his head.

“My boat exploded.” He states, annoyingly matter-of-fact. Her eyebrows rise almost to her hairline.

“Spontaneously?” She asks sarcastically, unsatisfied by his very brief explanation.

“No. I was shot at.” At her incredulous expression, he hastily added to his story. “Cowboy set off an alarm, it attracted a lot of guards. We did confirm that the bomb had been at the factory, but it wasn’t there when we arrived.”

“Are you okay?” She scans him thoroughly as she asks, looking for any injuries.

“I am fine.” As if in direct opposition to his words, he suddenly sneezes. When she reaches out to touch his shoulder she is alarmed as she realises he is shivering. She berates herself as she only now considers that he fell into water in the middle of the night, it would have been freezing.

“I’m running you a bath.” She says immediately and heads to the bathroom to get started.

“That is not necessary.” He replies, following her. “I am Russian, I can handle cold.” He sneezes again as she turns to him sceptically.

“No arguments!” As she sees that he is about to start one, regardless of what she just said, she abruptly changes tactics. “You know,” she says slowly, moving closer, “I could also use a bath, the tub is big enough for two. It would be a shame to waste so much water.”

For a spy, he is shockingly easy to manipulate. His reluctance immediately transitions into enthusiasm, and as the blood rushes away from his brain he almost seems to forget that the original purpose of the bath was to warm him up. There is a small touch of desperation in his touch, as though he is doing his best to memorise her. She wonders whether the incident on the boat has shaken him more than he would like to admit, but at any rate his sudden desire for intimacy fits her purposes. Tomorrow, there is a good chance that his affection will turn to hate, and she wants to remember this last night together. The warmth of the memory will chase away the loneliness, because this time she at least knows when everything is going to go wrong, so she doesn’t take a single second of their night together for granted.

When morning eventually comes, she is reluctant to allow him to leave the comfortable cloud of the bed. She manages to stop his first two attempts, but on the third he is wise to her tricks and manages to escape her blindly grasping hands with a short laugh. She glares up at him from the little nest of pillows she has made for herself and is rewarded with a far too brief kiss. She is quite happy to stay there until she has no choice but to get up, but when she sees her the absent space on her ring finger she bolts up immediately and nearly runs into the bathroom to retrieve it from the shelf she left it on. Illya gives her a questioning look as she quickly puts the pearl ring back on her finger, and she shrugs sheepishly in response.

“I have to meet my uncle today for lunch, he would be suspicious if I forgot my ring.” He nods acceptingly.

“Do you think he will lead you to your father?”

“I think so. He wants me to meet him alone.” She tells him honestly.

“We need to tell Cowboy.” He turns to leave, and she quickly catches his arm before he can reach the door.

“Forgetting something?” He frowns at her, so she gives him a bigger hint. “Solo’s Italian companion for the evening…” He nods sharply and returns to the bed to pick up the phone, he gives the room number to reception and waits to be transferred.

“Are you alone?” She hears him say, he waits a few seconds for a response and hangs up the phone. “Victoria has left.”

“I’ll get dressed and meet you at Solo’s room.” She says heading to the wardrobe, and looking through her remaining outfits. She hears the door open and shut quietly as he leaves, and her hands ball into fists, her nails digging deep into the flesh of her palms. The pain serving a purpose as it distracts her from the less physical pain she feels.

She regains her composure as she pulls a dress on, and gets ready. The tremor in her hands slowly disappears as she carefully does her makeup. She gives herself a final determined look in the mirror and then she leaves, the sound of the door closing behind her is upsettingly final.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quite like this chapter, it’s pretty cute and angsty. All the rest of the chapters of the fic will be fairly short (around 2000 words, the final chapter is unfortunately even shorter). Next chapter (9th September): Gaby betrays Illya and Napoleon.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: She regains her composure as she pulls a dress on, and gets ready. The tremor in her hands slowly disappears as she carefully does her makeup. She gives herself a final determined look in the mirror and then she leaves, the sound of the door closing behind her is upsettingly final.

Arriving at Solo’s room, the first thing Gaby notices is the clear defrost in the two men’s relationship. In the past few days, her time with them has always been characterised by a distinct tension in the atmosphere, with Illya taking every opportunity to glare at the smug American who seems determined to antagonise him at every turn. But now they seem relatively relaxed together, and she can only assume that whatever differences they had before the break in at the factory have now been more or less resolved. She really should have guessed as much judging by how concerned Illya had been for Solo’s safety when he returned to their room the previous night.

“Good morning.” She greets them both.

“Morning.” Solo says briefly and immediately turns the subject to the mission. “Your tracker is not sending a signal, did you turn it on?”

“I think so.” She moves past Illya to stand on the table in the room. “Or do you want to check it?” She lifts her skirt momentarily to indicate where she has placed the tracker. Wondering what Illya is thinking about her sudden display of skin, she briefly glances back she sees that he is keeping himself occupied by checking over one of his devices. Napoleon comes over, and she lifts her skirt again so he can see the tracker. His fingers brush against her skin as he adjusts it until the red light turns on. He smiles winningly at her.

“All turned on now.” She gives him a dirty look, completely bereft of amusement. It only makes him smile more, and he removes his hand so he can head back out to the balcony. Once he has gone, a shuffling sound catches her attention and she turns back to see Illya standing before her, hands near her waist and a silent question in his eyes. She places her hands on his shoulder to support herself as he picks her up and sets her back down again on the floor.

“You are trembling.” He says, looking at her in concern with his hands still in place.

“That’s because I’m scared.” She admits, and it’s the truth. She’s scared that something will go wrong, and she’s terrified that he won’t survive the day because of her actions.

“It will be okay,” he tries to reassure her, “I will be close by.” It doesn’t comfort her at all, if anything it makes her feel worse as his nearness will no doubt increase the chance he will be caught and shot.

“Uncle Rudi’s car has arrived.” Solo calls out as he returns, both of them separating quickly before he can see how close they are. “Are you ready?” She nods and steels herself for what is ahead. Giving them each one final glance, she readies her mask of nonchalance and heads for the car that is waiting for her.

She greets her uncle as the driver opens her door, he returns the hello as she sits and makes herself comfortable. The car is as large and luxurious as she would expect, and she recognises the driver as someone who works for the Vinciguerras. The first few minutes of the drive pass in silence as she watches the hotel disappear from view, her anxiety increasing as she puts more distance between herself and Illya.

“Where are we going, Uncle?” Gaby asks, genuinely curious. He had told her they would be going to lunch together, and she is curious what venue will be private enough for them to discuss her father. She also cannot help but wonder whether their destination is also her father’s current prison.

“We’ve been invited to lunch at the Vinciguerra Estate.” From what Illya has told her, she knows that the estate is a little way out of the city, but is likely not isolated enough to be where they are holding her father.

“That’s nice of them.” She comments. There is a pause before Rudi speaks again.

“Yesterday there was an incident at the race track.” She manages to keep her expression neutral, even as he continues. “Young Count Lippi and his cousins were assaulted by an unknown man. When they described him to me, he sounded remarkably like your fiancée.” Now does not seem an appropriate time to betray the two spies, she would rather wait until they reach the estate and are in the presence of at least one of the Vinciguerras. She needs herself, not Rudi, to be in control of this revelation and so for now she says nothing. Rudi lets out a small sound of satisfaction when she makes no defence.

Arriving at the estate, Gaby reconsiders her previous assessment. The place is huge, and there are any number of places just in the grounds that could be hiding a weapons workshop. They are escorted to a banquet table and greeted by Alexander Vinciguerra, he is dressed casually and smiling winningly at her. Victoria is not present, so he no doubt feels comfortable enough to flirt with her. Claiming that her fiancée is a spy and she is not in love with him might help win Alexander over to her cause and increase the chance that they will take her to her father. She watches as a waiter pours her a glass of wine so that she can make sure no drugs are surreptitiously added, Rudi and Alexander are served from the same bottle and do not seem to have any qualms with drinking the contents, so she tentatively raises her glass to sip at the excellent wine. She struggles to appreciate the taste of it since her stomach is rolling unpleasantly, and for once the alcohol does not help. She keeps drinking in order to keep up appearances.

“So your Uncle Rudi thinks we should have a little chat.” Alexander says calmly.

“I know my father is here, and that he works for you.” She skips the formalities to reach the point quickly.

“And how is that?” She keeps her expression carefully neutral, and prepares to deliver the lines she has prepared over and over in her head on the drive to the estate.

“Simple. My fiancée is a KGB agent, and the American that your wife has been entertaining is with the CIA.” Looking at their astonished expressions, she realises that they hadn’t been expecting her to give them up so readily. She hopes Waverly is right and this will be sufficient to earn their trust. “The Russians and the Americans thought they were using me, but I was using them to get to you.” She tries to speak slowly and clearly, partly to give her words a touch more sincerity but also so that Illya does not struggle to hear her on his listening device. Lifting her dress, she revealed the item on her garter.

“It’s a tracking device, he’s probably out there in the woods, watching us now. I’m sure my fiancée can confirm everything I’ve said, if you can catch him.” She hopes her final sentence is enough of a pointer to get Illya to start running.

“I think I’ll need to make a telephone call.” Rudi says, and leaves the table. She’s sure that he is going to inform Victoria of the two spies in their midst, she wonders whether Napoleon will be in any danger or if his meeting has already finished.

“Well perhaps you come to us at a fortuitous time, Miss Teller.” Alexander recaptures her attention. “Your father’s work ethic has been as of late, somewhat lacking. Your presence will provide the necessary motivation.” She gives him a small smile.

“You leave my father to me.” He nods, clearly satisfied by her response.

“I need to speak to my wife, my man here will take you to the island where your father is working.” A henchman appears and gestures for her to follow him, she raises her head trying to look proud and unrepentant, and accompanies the man as he takes her to a helicopter.

As they fly, Gaby sees a crescent shaped island that she assumes is their destination. Over the sounds of the helicopter she could faintly hear something else, and looking down she could see a speedboat heading to the same place. Squinting a little, she could identify Victoria and Alexander, but she could not see Napoleon or Illya. She isn’t sure whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, and she feels a pang of worry for both of them, but mostly for the Russian. She would never forgive herself if he was hurt or killed because of her.

The helicopter lands, and the first person who catches her attention is the same bald man she saw on the photo Napoleon showed her. Her father. She feels mixed emotions on seeing him, half wanting to strangle him and the other half wanting to hug him and sob until he tells her that everything is alright, like he used to do when she was very young and distressed over a nightmare. Unlike then, there is no waking up from this dream. She doesn’t let herself do either as she sees Alexander appear. He looks between them for a moment.

“I’ll let you two get reacquainted.” He says and walks off. Her father leads her to a table and pulls out a chair for her. Sitting down she glances over to see that Alexander is standing by the side lines, still watching them carefully.

“I have often dreamed of this day.” Her father says in German and those mixed emotions return. She stands up, unwilling to look at him in case she does something stupid. She can hear him stand up and move closer. “Gaby, I have made a terrible mistake.”

She slaps him then, the action fuelled by a mixture of anger and wariness as she knows that the Italian is still watching and she needs to make sure her father does not say anything that incriminates both of them. She storms off, knowing that she will appear to just be a daughter angry at her father’s absence in her life. Udo follows her, and once they are far enough away she feels confident enough to speak again.

“You must appear to co-operate. That’s the best chance we have to disable the bomb permanently.” He is only surprised for a moment.

“Guards watch every step of the process, there are cameras everywhere.” He says as they walk. She wishes they could speak longer but she sees Victoria and Alexander appear around the corner.

“I’ll help you.” She says quickly. “Hug me, Father.” They embrace just as the couple catches sight of them.

“My father has been unwell. He is ready to resume his work.” She says confidently.

“A daughter’s touch.” Alexander responds snidely.

“Gaby has agreed to assist me.” Udo tries to placate them. “To ensure I finish on time.” Victoria gives them a wide smile which makes Gaby feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“Now there’s a good idea.” She half-expects something to go very wrong immediately, but it does not. A few guards appear behind the couple to shepherd her and her father to the lab.

As her father told her there were guards and assistants in the laboratory, watching their every move. She asks an innocent question about one of the components of the bomb, hoping to create enough of a distraction for her father to deactivate the bomb. One of the assistants with roving eyes was quick to explain the coupler to her, she lets her hand fall onto a tray of tools and she leans slightly so that it unbalances and crashes to the floor, emptying the contents. She kneels to tidy it with the assistants help, and hopes that she has given her father enough time to switch the lenses.

When she stands back up again, resisting the urge to shake off the unwelcome hand on the small of her back, she sees that Victoria has returned.

“We’re nearly done, Victoria.”

“Those are the words we’ve been waiting to hear.” She replies and makes a signal, Gaby suddenly feels two men grab her arms.

“What are you doing?” Udo cries as she tries to struggle out of their strong grips.

“Let’s both stop playing games, shall we.” The Italian woman says, voice devoid of any kindness. She turns her head to speak to the guards holding Gaby. “Put her in a cell. You don’t hear from me in 20 minutes, kill her.” She felt her blood run cold as the two men began to bodily drag her from the room and as she nears the exit she hears Victoria continue to speak to her father.

“That’s how long you have to finish this. You can start by putting back the lens, professor.”

She is thrown like a rag doll into a tiny cell, barely bigger than her wardrobe back in East Berlin. There is at least a cushion for her to sit on and she settles in for what will no doubt be quite a short wait. She puts down her bag, and idly twists the ring on her finger, absurdly grateful that they have not thought to take it away from her. Hopefully Illya and Napoleon will have escaped their captors and are on their way to get her, although she is sure they are both more interested in recovering the bomb than saving her.

She wonders whether her father will be willing to sacrifice her life in order to avoid giving the Vinciguerras what they want, she is sure that Victoria wasn’t bluffing when she told her men to kill her in twenty minutes. And this inevitably leads to her darkly curious thoughts on how Illya would react to finding her freshly shot corpse, would he be pleased at the traitor’s death? Or would he mourn her? She thinks would prefer it to be the former, she has caused him enough upset already. As more time passes, she starts thinking of all the things she had wanted to do before her death. After spending all her life in Berlin, she had wanted the chance to see the world, Rome had only added fuel to the fire of her wanderlust. She had never really considered children, but now that the opportunity seems like it will be denied to her, she feels oddly sad that she will never have cute brown haired, blue eyed miniature people to adore and spoil like she never was.

She is sure that the twenty minutes she has been given are close to coming to an end when she hears footsteps approaching. She stands up, prepared to face her end with as much dignity as possible. It is not an anonymous guard that turns up, but Alexander. He throws a pair of handcuffs through the bars.

“Put those on.” She looks at him incredulously, until he pulls a gun and repeats the order. When the safety clicks off, she hastily complies, uncertain of what is happening. She wonder if they are maybe taking her somewhere more secluded to shoot her. She finds the thought surprisingly numbing, she had always thought she would have more fear of her death, considering she has spent most of her life scared of something.

Once the handcuffs lock into place around her wrists, he unlocks the door and pulls her out by her elbow. He does not let go as he guides her through several passages until they reach a large cavernous space hosting several cars. He picks up a pair of keys off a nearby hook and gentlemanly opens the passenger door of one of the vehicles for her. She eyes the gesture with some suspicion, but she gets in anyway. Her eyes drift to the back of the car and immediately she spots the bomb behind her as she sits down. The sight only makes her frown, she doesn’t understand why she is accompanying the weapon. Surely she is of no further use to them if her father has completed his task? The engine roars into action as Alexander turns the key, and she nearly jerks in surprise when his hand moves from the key to come to rest on her thigh. She fights the urge to shove him away as she tries to process what this gesture means. She thinks of Victoria, who had clearly enjoyed her night with Napoleon, and Alexander who has always been rather blatant with his advances towards herself. She realises with some revulsion exactly what they have planned with her and nearly rolls her eyes with annoyance. She will have to bide her time until she is given a chance to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve guessed at a reason for why Gaby doesn’t immediately get shot when the bomb is finished, it’s probably wrong but since Victoria and Alexander are unrepentant adulterers (and Gaby is no longer useful as a hostage) I imagine that Alexander was planning on asking Victoria if they could keep her. Also good news my second TMFU fic ‘Sacrifices for the Greater Good’ is nearly finished!! I just have the epilogue left. I will be posting it once this is finished. Next chapter (13th September): Car chase time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: She doesn’t understand why she is accompanying the weapon, surely she is of no further use to them if her father has completed his task? The engine roars into action as Alexander turns the key, and she nearly jerks in surprise when his hand moves from the key to come to rest on her thigh… She realises with some revulsion exactly what they have planned with her.

They have been driving a while when the sudden roar of another engine catches Gaby’s attention, and she twists around in her seat to see a dark haired figure pursuing them in another vehicle. She stares intently until she is sure that it is Napoleon, and while she is pleased to see him she feels a stab of concern as she notices that he is the only one in the car. Illya is nowhere to be found, he could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere, murdered by Victoria’s men, and she would be none the wiser. By her side, Alexander swears as he also catches sight of their pursuer and speeds up in an attempt to get away from him.

The chase is bumpy and erratic, and she curses her kidnapper’s career as his expert driving keeps Solo at a considerable distance that the American struggles to shorten. She can practically feel Alexander’s glee when they drive into the river, and she begins to panic as the water level rises thinking that maybe he would rather kill them both than allow themselves to be captured. But to her relief, the water never rises above her chin no matter how far into the river they drive, and it drains away as the car climbs back onto solid land. Her dress is ruined, but besides the shiver the cold water has put in her she is unharmed. Behind them, she sees Solo struggling to drive through the mud, and she loses all hope when he appears to give up and reverses back out of the river. He proves her wrong a few minutes later when he reappears behind them, causing the Italian to curse loudly. No doubt he thought he had been in the clear.

Gaby flinches at the same time as Alexander instinctively brakes when a motorbike suddenly appears out of nowhere and lands in front of them. She feels her heart swell as she realises she recognises the back of the head of the rider. Illya slows down to level with them, the situation eerily familiar to when it was Napoleon driving her and trying to distance himself from the Russian. He meets her eyes momentarily before he takes his gun out and without a moment of hesitation shoots at the wheels of the car. The car swerves and she hears a scream as Alexander forces Illya off the road before he can completely incapacitate the car, realising belatedly that the sound is coming from her own mouth. She turns around to try to see him, but she doesn’t even catch a glimpse as the car speeds off past, Alexander intent on getting away. There was no explosion, she thinks frantically, he could still be okay. Her active imagination promptly conjures up a thousand other horrible thoughts- the terrain is quite uneven and there may have been rocks on the ground where he fell, sharp-edged things that could easily shear through a skull from a fall at that kind of speed.

She can’t dwell on the unpleasant image for too long since fortunately for her, the distraction Illya has provided allows Napoleon to take his place on the road. She watches his lips move as he tries to communicate something to her, _hold on_ , she immediately grasps hold of something and not a moment later Solo slams his car into theirs. Gaby cries out as the car soars for a second before it slams back into the ground, the momentum of the jump causing the car to roll dangerously. She doesn’t have any time to feel fear before she feels a sharp pain and everything goes black.

She is not unconscious for long, and she feels awareness come back to her as two arms tug on her body, trying to pull her out of the car wreck. A force resisting his attempts tugs at her wrists, and it only takes a moment for Napoleon to realise that her handcuffs have become caught in part of the car as it had rolled. Still dazed, she tries to help as he attempts to pull her free. Eventually they are successful, and she moans in pain as he drags her out of the wreck, a fiery agony coming from her ankle. She sees a shadow fall over them and she shouts out to Napoleon to try to warn him about Alexander, but she is too late and the American is sent to the floor by the first crowbar blow.

Fear of what Alexander will do to Napoleon and what will happen if he regains control of the situation spurs her into action. With no inconsiderable amount of effort, she forces herself up and throws herself on the Italian, trying to keep his attention off Napoleon long enough for him to recover. Unfortunately her grip is not tight enough, her fingers slippery from the rain, and she feels a pair of hands grab her and throw her to the floor, the blow knocking out all all the air in her lungs. Disorientated, she struggles back into a sitting position, but before she can attempt anything else she sees part of a motorcycle flying through the air to hit their enemy square in the chest. Alexander staggers back from the blow, and while he is distracted a figure appears over the hill- Illya, looking mostly unharmed from his sudden re-acquaintance with the ground. Seeing him again, after convincing herself that he could not have survived such a crash, is nearly too much for her. She feels a sudden burst of relief for both his safety and the certainty that Alexander is no match for him in a fight, and she allows herself to fall back on the floor and let the full weight of her injuries hit her.

Her eyes squeezing shut in pain, she doesn’t see what happens but she does hear a sickening squelsh that is shortly followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor. The lack of a gunshot tells her that it is Alexander that is dead and she feels a surge of satisfaction at the thought, but it only lasts a moment before the pain overwhelms her again. She is faintly aware of a voice asking after ‘Cowboy’ before a pair of hands gently scoop her up and cradle her close. The warmth of his body helps to push away the cold that seems to have set into her bones, and she opens her eyes again to see Illya looking down at her with such undeserved concern that her brain to mouth filter promptly disintegrates and she starts sobbing out incoherent apologies.

* * *

_Gaby stared at the card in her hands, in the midst of an internal debate as to what she should do. It had been a few days since the embarrassing incident where she had drunkenly kissed the Russian man in a desperate attempt to avoid imprisonment or worse. Since that night she had barely slept, instead keeping her eyes trained on her front door, convinced that the Stasi were going to burst in. Her paranoia had also lasted during her workday where her fellow mechanics had been quick to notice how on edge she was, and even she had to admit it was exhausting being constantly aware of everything around her and flinching each time a customer arrived. After a while, with absolutely no indication that she was being closely watched or near to arrest, she started to consider that the Russian had been telling the truth when he had told her that he wasn’t going to report her actions. The realisation only made her feel worse about how she had treated him, and she longed to apologise and thank him for his discretion. While thinking over potential ways she could find him in order to make amends, she had abruptly remembered that he had given her a business card when he picked up his car, and she had spent a few hours frantically searching her flat for it, eventually finding it under a pile of dirty clothes she had not yet had the time to wash._

_The card listed his name, occupation, the business he was working at and his phone number. He was an accountant, not quite the occupation she would have expected. She can’t imagine him sitting behind a desk all day. She considered ringing the number on the card and apologising on the phone, but that felt far too impersonal and she wanted him to know that she was sincere. Another option presented itself when she examined the name of the business he worked for and found that she recognised it, it was a pretty inconsequential place, they manufactured various bits and pieces for companies that needed them to make more interesting and expensive products._

_After a day of thinking it over, she arrived at the front desk, still clinging onto the card. She gave the name on the card- Viktor Petrov- to the woman, and after a few endlessly long minutes, the Russian himself appeared. He hadn’t looked too pleased to see her, but had directed her to his office after she requested somewhere a little more private to talk. Sitting in front of his desk, she felt incredibly small as he looked at her without speaking or displaying any emotion. After a while, she realised he was waiting for her to speak and would not start the conversation himself, something that made sense considering how badly she had insulted him the last time they had seen each other._

_“I wanted to apologise,” she began tentatively, “for the other night and for all the times at the garage. I was prejudiced and rude, and I’m very sorry for that.”_

_“I accept your apology.” His reply was curt, and he looked neither pleased nor displeased by what she had said._

_“I was wondering if I could maybe buy you a coffee, to try to make up for my behaviour.” His harsh gaze seemed to soften a little at that, and she was suddenly once again aware of how handsome he was. He stared at his watch for far longer than was necessary to ascertain the time._

_“I can take my break now, if that is convenient.” She nodded, working at a business you also owned provided significant benefits when it came to flexibility of working hours. She let him lead her to a small but clean café, and despite her offer he would not let her buy his coffee._

_The fifteen minutes they spent together had been unexpectedly but extraordinarily pleasant once the initial awkwardness had faded. He was a quiet man, but only because he seemed to choose his words carefully instead of blurting out the first thing to come to mind, like other men she had known. When he had glanced at his watch and regretfully brought the interlude to an end, she had been disappointed, and before she knew what she was saying she had suggested they repeat the experience. She flushed pink afterwards, more than a little concerned that he thought her unhinged, but he had simply smiled and suggested a time and place that she agreed to. When she had returned to the garage, she found him surprisingly difficult to shake from her thoughts, and she already looked forward to their next meeting._

* * *

“It is okay, Gaby, it is okay.” His voice calms her, and he lets her cling to him. She hears the cavalry arrive, but she can barely bring herself to care. This right now, the knowledge that he is alive and in one piece and doesn’t hate her guts, feels so much more important.

When the medical team arrives, he carries her over to avoid her putting any pressure on her injured ankle. They place a rather useless blanket over her shoulder “for the shock”, and try to convince Solo and Illya to submit to an examination but both are too stubborn to allow it. As her temperature begins to return to normal and the painkillers kick in, she looks over at Illya. He has not left her side, although she is unsure how voluntary that is since she has refused to let go of his hand.

“We met your boss.” He says, with only the slightest trace of bitterness. “He told us that he ordered you to betray us.”

“I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. He was confident you would both escape.” She bites back further desperate justifications for what she did, knowing that they might be overheard.

“And we did.” Solo interjects, wincing a little. “More or less.” She’s sure there is more to the story that she has missed, she makes a move to question him but a rapid movement out of the corner of her eye catches her attention. Illya is determinedly shaking his head, he knows what she wants to ask, but clearly feels that it is a question for a less emotionally-charged time. She shuts her mouth, and there is a slightly awkward silence until Waverly appears.

“Well done chaps.” He says. “Just one small snag, wrong warhead.” They all look at him in total disbelief. He doesn’t get to explain further until they are all bundled into a helicopter and flying off to the aircraft carrier.

“So it’s a decoy?” Napoleon asks.

“No, no. It’s a real bomb.” Waverly explained. “Quite a nasty one too, but not nuclearized. There’s no uranium in it.”

“There was a second warhead in the lab.” Gaby tells them, the thought of the lab reminds her of her father. She does not yet know what has become of him, but now is not the time to ask.

When they reach the aircraft carrier they are given the perplexing news that no other vehicles have left the island. It is Illya that is first to suggest that the Vinciguerras may be using an innocent looking fishing boat to transport the dangerous weapon, and Napoleon who figures out exactly which fishing boat out of the hundred possible that they are using. The plan to stop the handover is Gaby’s welcome contribution and they all watched the horizon until a sudden explosion confirms their success. A sudden feeling of strange hollowness came upon her when she saw the sight, because now she knew for certain that the mission was over, and with the inevitable end of the mission would come goodbyes and a separation that was very likely to be permanent.

She half-expects Waverly to suggest she join him immediately, but instead he advises her to go back to the hotel and pack her things. She guesses that MI6 may have to cover her mission expenses once the Russian and American intelligence services discover she was not a simple pawn, and Waverly will want to make most of the clothes he will have to pay for.

“Sir, what about my father?” A sudden silence falls over the room, and she doesn’t even need to hear his reply to know the answer.

“I am sorry Gaby, it looks like Victoria shot him as soon as he completed his work. Once she had the bomb and the disc, she had no further use for him.” She nods, and blinks back tears. Their relationship had at least finally been given some closure, and she should have known better than to think everything would turn out fine. She feels a warmth on her back as Illya’s hand guides her away from the command centre and to a boat that will transfer them to the mainland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me! As a special present to you all I give you: an update for this, the prologue of 'Sacrifices for the Greater Good' and later today: a drabble one-shot which will eventually be part of a series of drabbles. Final chapter for 'Six Months' on Friday, yay! Then the flashback summary chapter on Saturday. Next chapter (16th September): Gaby and Illya say goodbye.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Her and her father’s relationship had at least finally been given some closure, and she should have known better than to think everything would turn out fine. She feels a warmth on her back as Illya’s hand guides her away from the command centre and to a boat that will transfer them to the mainland.

When they arrive back at the hotel, Waverly gives her twenty minutes to gather her things before she is due to meet him at his room for a talk. She suspects he intends to tell her about what is going to happen next, and she thinks it will likely involve transportation to London and some more training. Now that she has fulfilled her side of their bargain he needs to do his own part, but she is not stupid enough to think this will be the end of her career as an MI6 agent. She has done well this mission, Waverly will not be quick to give her up so easily. She and Illya look at each other with regret as they realise they likely won’t have time to talk, and she throws dresses haphazardly into her case, wanting to have as much time with him as possible to say a proper goodbye. She finishes relatively quickly, but before she can celebrate a short phone call reveals they have even less time than they thought.

“All packed? The bellboy is on his way up.” She tells him, trying to hide her annoyance, as she hangs up the phone.

“It’s time to go home.” Illya says, voice tinged with resignation as he closes his own case. “How about you?” He enquires.

“MI6 have arranged for a flat for me in London.” Gaby says honestly and hesitates. “I’m sorry that I never told you about being a British spy, I really wanted to.” She holds his gaze as she speaks, wanting to communicate as much sincerity as possible. He hasn’t really said anything about how he feels about her being a spy, in fact he has taken it surprisingly well. She can’t help but wonder if he does resent her for it.

“I suppose that is the reason why you were not angry at me for being KGB?” He asks, she gives him a small smile in response.

“It would have been very hypocritical of me if I had been.” She replies truthfully. They have both lied to each other, and neither really can hold it against the other. She imagines he probably felt the same momentary anger and betrayal that she felt when she first suspected his actual job, but like with her his was quick to fade once he remembered his own deception.

“I’m sorry about your father.” He says quietly, and she lets her gaze fall to the floor as she shrugs. The emotional impact of it is still quite fresh, but she’s finding the news quite difficult to really accept.

“I lost him a long time ago.” It is difficult to feel grief over someone she barely knew, there is still a void in her life where her father should have fit but it has been empty for far too long than his momentary presence could mend. Illya moves over to comfortingly squeeze her shoulder before he seems to suddenly remember something.

“I forget, I got you something.” He rummages around a pile of items on the floor until he rises again, triumphantly brandishing a small piece of paper. When he hands it to her, she sees that it was the photo of her and her father that she saw in the laboratory. It is strange to think that her father has had it all this time and she is glad that she gets the chance to keep this memory of a long-forgotten time. She looks up at him gratefully, but he speaks again before she has the opportunity to thank him. “Cowboy has invited us for a drink up in his room, if you would like.” Her smile turns to a slight frown as she realises she can’t accept the invitation.

“I have to see Waverly.” Her time is nearly up, she turns to grab her case but remembering the ring still on her finger she moves to face him again, already twisting the ring off. “In case we don’t see each other again.” He takes it from her and gives it a pensive look.

“No.” She is too surprised to resist as he places it back on her finger. “You should keep it, as souvenir. And that way I can keep track of you.” She almost hits him, but instead chokes out a laugh.

“So this is goodbye.” She says, smiling weakly at him. He looks like he wants to kiss her, and if she is honest with herself she wants him too as well. But she stops him anyway, the tips of her fingers pressing against his mouth as he leans down. “We shouldn’t make this more difficult for ourselves.”

He nods understandingly and steps back. The gap between them suddenly feels insurmountably wide, and before Gaby quite knows what she is doing, she has wrapped her arms around him in a final embrace. “I love you.” She whispers into his ear, a confession that is only meant for his ears and not for any of the listening devices Solo may have placed in the room.

“I thought we were trying to avoid making this difficult.” Despite his words, she can see that her admission of the depths of her feelings has made him happy. She thinks that it may have been worth saying, even if it means it will take both of them longer to move on.

“I know, but I owed you that.” He doesn’t have to ask her what she means by such a cryptic comment, he already knows. Their previous goodbye is still a fresh wound that hasn’t yet stopped bleeding.

* * *

_When Gaby heard about the sudden series of arrests at her lover’s workplace, she knew that Viktor would soon be leaving Berlin. He had never directly confirmed her suspicions that he was a spy, he hadn’t needed to and after the argument they had nearly a month before, she had not wanted to pry and risk casting a dark shadow over their last few weeks together. She knew that he had been involved in the sudden downfall of the company, his job as an accountant would have given him plenty of access to the accounts and likely to other incriminating evidence._

_She had not been surprised when he appeared at her door, looking more grim than happy to see her. She knew what he had come to say, so she had not let him speak. She tackled him to the floor, accidentally knocking a vase off a nearby table and kissed him hard before he could speak. He was too surprised to resist her, and too unwilling to stop her. They didn’t make it to the couch or the bed, the floor wasn’t particularly comfortable but it wasn’t a big enough concern for them to stop and move._

_When they had finished, he said something in Russian, and for a moment she had been furious at herself for never bothering to learn the language. Before she could ask for a translation, he had picked her up and carried her to her bedroom, pulling the covers over both of them._

_“What did that mean?” She asked once they were comfortably tangled together._

_“What did what mean?” He played dumb. She imitated him, probably butchering the language as she did so, judging by his laughter. He repeated the words correctly, and she elbowed him in irritation when he ‘forgot’ to tell her the German equivalent._

_“It means, ‘I love you’.” He told her eventually. He repeated the Russian again, but this time with an additional word._

_“What does that mean?” She said the additional word._

_“That means ‘goodbye’.” The tears came quickly and quietly, but even with her attempts at hiding it, he still noticed, and his large thumbs carefully wiped them away. “No tears.” He ordered her gently._

_“No tears.” She echoed, and kissed him gently before burrowing into the covers and pulling his arm over so it was slung across her waist. When she woke up the next morning, the bed was cold and he was gone._

* * *

The phone rings and the door opens, jarring both of them from the memory they had been lost in. As Illya answers the call, Gaby seizes the distraction and slips out of the door before he can notice her leave. She allows herself to lean back against the door for a moment to regain her composure, and then she goes to speak to Waverly as requested, certain that is the last she will see of Illya.

Less than ten minutes later she is returning to Solo’s room, accompanied by a very smug Waverly. She is so happy that she feels like she might burst and it is taking a remarkable amount of strength for her to maintain her professional demeanour. The two men are sitting on the balcony, drinking whisky. A plume of smoke catches her attention and her eyes are drawn to the ashtray on the table which is currently occupied by something so burnt it is unrecognisable, but before she can give it much thought, a glint of metal brings her gaze to Illya’s previously bare wrist. His father’s watch is back in place. She knows that he hasn’t suddenly found it as she is sure that she would have noticed him wearing it back in their room. The only possibility is that Solo, thief extraordinaire, has somehow managed to recover it. She feels a burst of affection and gratitude for him, such a gesture will have meant a lot to Illya.

“Good evening, gentleman.” Waverly is as polite as ever. “A touching scene. Nice view, a glass of whisky, and a little bonfire to keep you warm. Rather a good idea.” He looks at them, a hint of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “So I have news, a fresh little unpleasantness has arisen that I’ve spoken to your superiors about, and now that we’re all such good friends they’ve kindly agreed to let me keep the team together for a little while.” Solo and Illya both look rather astonished at the sudden development, and she wonders whether their reaction has anything to do with the phone call Illya answered before she left. “We leave in an hour.”

“Where are we going?” Illya manages to ask.

“Istanbul, Kuryakin. You’ll need your curly wurly shoes.” Waverly remarks in his usual dry manner. “Oh and you have a new codename.”

“Codename?” Napoleon asks.

“Yes, rather a good one: U.N.C.L.E.”

Without anything further to say, Waverly leaves and is quickly accompanied by a confused Solo, who is trying to get some more answers from him about their unexpected assignment and what reason the CIA could have not to drag him straight back to America. Unexpectedly, their departures leave Gaby and Illya alone and she advances towards him with a bright look in her eyes.

“It isn’t quite goodbye, anymore.” She says, reaching for his hands so their fingers can intertwine together.

“Not yet anyway.” He says, looking more pleased as the news finally sinks in. “How much time do you think we have?”

“Time before Napoleon gets back or time before we have to return to our respective agencies?” She asks with a mischievous smile. Despite her levity it is a legitimate concern, this mission has given them one week, and now the question is how much longer this one will give them?

“Both.” He says with a grin. She removes her hands from his grip and puts her arms around his neck.

“Five minutes maybe, and who knows? Weeks, months, years. It could be anything.” She answers, her mind already full of possibilities about the future.

“We should make the most of it then.” She isn’t sure which he is referring to, and doesn’t get to think about it for long as he finally steals the kiss she denied him back in their room. Too distracted, they don’t notice the rapidly approaching footsteps and the sudden pause as the door to the balcony opens.

“Uh, you two do realise you don’t have to pretend to be a couple anymore?” Solo says awkwardly from the doorway.

* * *

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was fun. The chapter containing all the flashbacks in order (+ a few extra) will be up Saturday. Thanks guys for all the support and reviews, it really does help me keep up the enthusiasm for a fandom and write more.


	11. All Flashbacks in Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains all the flashbacks from the main story but this time listed in chronological order. I have also added two new flashbacks to this chapter which I wasn't able to include in the main story, so I hope you guys enjoy.

“Schmidt!” Gaby raised her head from the paperwork she was doing to see one of the other mechanics jerk his head towards the door. “Customer.” She nodded and cleared away her papers before heading towards the garage entrance.

The customer was leaning back against his car, waiting patiently to be attended to. He looked up as he heard her footsteps and immediately straightened up; he had looked tall sitting down but his new stance revealed his huge frame. Tall and broad and handsome, she felt a genuine smile cross her face as she self-consciously adjusted her dirty uniform. If there had been a mirror available she would have checked for any tell-tale dark smudges that always seemed to appear on her cheeks at the most inconvenient of times.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

“My car has broken down.” Her smile faded as he spoke, his German was perfect but his accent gave away an unpopular nationality.

“We have a lot of cars in at the moment, it will be a few weeks before we can fix yours.” She lied, hoping that he would go to a different garage. He merely shrugged.

“When should I come back for it?” She bit her lip as she thought it through, she didn’t want him to come back and catch her in her lie.

“Come back next week, I’ll have a look at it during my break. It might not need too much work.”

“Thank you.” To her irritation, the bastard even sounded grateful as he handed over his keys. She watched him leave, the metal ring dangling from her fingers.

“I’ll need your name,” she called out to him before he could get too far away, “in case you come by while I’m on a break.”

“Viktor Petrov.” He answered, she nodded and made a note of it in a small notebook she carried on her person. When she raised her eyes again she saw him stroll away, as though without a care in the world. She frowned in annoyance, and had to fight down the impulse to make a large dent on the hood just to wipe the expression off his face.

* * *

Gaby could hear the music of the rain as she worked on the underside of a car. The sound of each drop hitting the roof of the garage formed a pretty little song for her to listen to. She appeared to be the only one appreciating the weather as she heard plenty of customers returning to retrieve their cars and cursing as they tried to shake off the worst of the damp. She felt a slight sadistic satisfaction at the knowledge that anyone walking around that day without appropriate protection was going to be wet through. Several metres away she heard the sound of two men talking, but it was too far away for her to distinguish what they said.

“Miss Schmidt?” An accented voice said above her. Her good mood immediately soured as she realised it was the Russian from the previous week. She used her feet to propel herself out from under the car, the wheeled board under her slid smoothly over the floor.

“Yes?” She asked impatiently, glaring at him as she realised that he was dripping all over the floor. For the moment she allowed her prejudices to help her forget the floor was filthy in order to allow her to feel proper indignation. The rain clearly had not spared him, but it didn’t appear to bother him.

“Is my car ready?” She dropped her wrench with an annoyed sigh and stood up, brushing the dust off her overalls. She marched off to another area of the building, not bothering to tell him to follow her. He did anyway, not apparently needing a prompt to tell him that she is taking him to his car.

“The problem was minor.” She said, not bothering to conceal her boredom. “It took five minutes to fix, you could have done it yourself instead of wasting my time.”

“I know nothing of cars, I would have made the problem worse. How much do I need to pay you?” She quoted him an extortionate price, irritated that he was still totally unruffled.

“That is a lot of money for five minutes of work.” He noted aloud. Feeling a stab of irritation, she opened her mouth to give him a piece of mind, but closed it again when he counted out the full amount and handed it over. She felt a pinprick of guilt as she accepted the notes. “You do not like me.” He said as he put away his wallet. “I would like to know why.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She lied. “I don’t have any feelings about you, positive or negative. You’re a customer.”

“I have met you twice, and each time you have been very impolite. I wish to know if I have done something to offend you.” She realised with some shame that she had been blaming all the faults of a nation on one of its inhabitant.

“It’s nothing you’ve done.”

“Then what is it?” He looked at her unflinchingly, expecting a clear cut answer. She is suddenly struck by how very blue his eyes are. Very Aryan, her mind supplied bitterly, reminding her of the crimes of her blood relatives.

“Nothing.” She examined the small pile of notes in her hands and quickly counted out roughly half of it, which she held out to him. “I’m in a bad mood, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I charged you unfairly.” He made no move to accept the money.

“The expense is no concern, I would have paid that much to have it finished so quickly, considering you are so busy.” She cannot stop the flush that creeps up her neck. He did pull his wallet out again, but this time to retrieve a small card. “I appreciate that you managed to fix my car on time, if there is a favour I can do for you in return, please contact me.”

She took the card he gave to her and saw it was a business card, listing his name, phone number and the business he worked at. She shoved it quickly in her back pocket and handed over his keys. She just wanted him to leave as quickly as possible so she could forget all about him. But once he had left, she didn’t feel relieved, only more miserable. She couldn’t even bring herself to be annoyed by the trail of water he had left in his wake.

* * *

It had been three weeks since Gaby had met Viktor, and she had managed to give little thought to him since the day he had collected his car, fully expecting never to see him again. Her days and mind were instead full of the usual- cars and wishful thoughts about the West. She had been relaxing at home with a bottle of wine one evening, when she had suddenly remembered the discrete package she had forgotten under her desk that day at work. One of her more frequent customers had delivered it that day, a little black market gift as a thank you for her speedy work on his car. A sudden panic overtook her as she realised that if one of her workers arrived the next morning earlier than her, they might find the forbidden record and report her.

Despite her inebriated state and the late hour, she had immediately rushed off to the garage to retrieve it, and had breathed out an audible sigh of relief when she had found the package in the same position she had left it. She pulled away the brown paper to reveal the name of a popular American artist and grinned in appreciation, carefully putting the record into the large nondescript bag she had brought with her. After locking up again, she had turned to head home and nearly jumped a mile when she found herself facing the large Russian man.

“Hi.” She managed to say, subtly moving the bag behind her.

“What are you doing here?” He asked with a frown.

“This is my business. What are you doing here?” She said accusingly, making a poor attempt at deflecting the attention off of her.

“I could not sleep, so I decided to take a walk.”

“Then walk.” She had decided to storm off dramatically, but a rock underfoot had put a stop to that and made her stumble. She might have fallen flat on her face, had it not been for his quick reflexes catching her elbow and pulling her back upright.

“You are drunk.” He stated.

“Is that a crime now? Are you going to report me?” She spat sarcastically.

“Drinking is not a crime.” He acknowledged. “But owning the contents of that bag probably is.” He pointed to the bag at her side, it had fallen open slightly during her fall and now proudly revealed its contents, she felt her blood run cold as she realised the implications of his words.

“What are you going to do?” She asked quietly, gripping so tightly on her bag that her knuckles turned white.

“I am going to walk you home. It is not safe for you to be walking around at night.” His tone and facial expression revealed nothing of his intentions, and only caused her panic to increase. The unknown is always more terrifying than certainty, with certainty there is no chance for wiggle room or negotiation. The unknown is dangerous as it offers up even a meagre slimmer of hope that perhaps, if you do just the right thing, you might still escape what seems inevitable, and it was this hope that Gaby clung to.

He gestured for her to lead the way, and after some hesitation she did, her heart hammering away in her chest as she wondered what he would do when they reached her flat. And as they walked, hope struck again as she thought about what she would be willing to do to avoid imprisonment.

When they reached the door of her building, Gaby took a deep breath and promptly flung herself at him. She kissed him with the desperation of a woman trying to save her skin. It lasted for a second or two before she was abruptly pushed back a few steps, a restraining hand quickly catching her wrist to stop her from falling. Once she was steady, he let go as though her touch repulsed him.

“I am not going to report you, Miss Schmidt.” He looked rather insulted by her attempt to persuade him to keep her secret.

“I’m sorry, I just thought…” She felt the tears sting at her eyes. “I’m so sick of being scared.”

“You have nothing to fear from me, regardless of what you might think.”

The barb was barely concealed. He had clearly figured out the reason she didn’t like him and was decidedly displeased about her prejudice. Her head bowed in shame as she realised that she had judged him too harshly for circumstances beyond his control.

“Goodnight, Miss Schmidt.” She watched him retreat to the street, wanting nothing more than to apologise again but unable to find the words to excuse her actions.

* * *

Gaby stared at the card in her hands, in the midst of an internal debate as to what she should do. It had been a few days since the embarrassing incident where she had drunkenly kissed the Russian man in a desperate attempt to avoid imprisonment or worse. Since that night she had barely slept, instead keeping her eyes trained on her front door, convinced that the Stasi were going to burst in. Her paranoia had also lasted during her workday where her fellow mechanics had been quick to notice how on edge she was, and even she had to admit it was exhausting being constantly aware of everything around her and flinching each time a customer arrived. After a while, with absolutely no indication that she was being closely watched or near to arrest, she started to consider that the Russian had been telling the truth when he had told her that he wasn’t going to report her actions. The realisation only made her feel worse about how she had treated him, and she longed to apologise and thank him for his discretion. While thinking over potential ways she could find him in order to make amends, she had abruptly remembered that he had given her a business card when he picked up his car, and she had spent a few hours frantically searching her flat for it, eventually finding it under a pile of dirty clothes she had not yet had the time to wash.

The card listed his name, occupation, the business he was working at and his phone number. He was an accountant, not quite the occupation she would have expected. She can’t imagine him sitting behind a desk all day. She considered ringing the number on the card and apologising on the phone, but that felt far too impersonal and she wanted him to know that she was sincere. Another option presented itself when she examined the name of the business he worked for and found that she recognised it, it was a pretty inconsequential place, they manufactured various bits and pieces for companies that needed them to make more interesting and expensive products.

After a day of thinking it over, she arrived at the front desk, still clinging onto the card. She gave the name on the card- Viktor Petrov- to the woman, and after a few endlessly long minutes, the Russian himself appeared. He hadn’t looked too pleased to see her, but had directed her to his office after she requested somewhere a little more private to talk. Sitting in front of his desk, she felt incredibly small as he looked at her without speaking or displaying any emotion. After a while, she realised he was waiting for her to speak and would not start the conversation himself, something that made sense considering how badly she had insulted him the last time they had seen each other.

“I wanted to apologise,” she began tentatively, “for the other night and for all the times at the garage. I was prejudiced and rude, and I’m very sorry for that.”

“I accept your apology.” His reply was curt, and he looked neither pleased nor displeased by what she had said.

“I was wondering if I could maybe buy you a coffee, to try to make up for my behaviour.” His harsh gaze seemed to soften a little at that, and she was suddenly once again aware of how handsome he was. He stared at his watch for far longer than was necessary to ascertain the time.

“I can take my break now, if that is convenient.” She nodded, working at a business you also owned provided significant benefits when it came to flexibility of working hours. She let him lead her to a small but clean café, and despite her offer he would not let her buy his coffee.

The fifteen minutes they spent together had been unexpectedly but extraordinarily pleasant once the initial awkwardness had faded. He was a quiet man, but only because he seemed to choose his words carefully instead of blurting out the first thing to come to mind, like other men she had known. When he had glanced at his watch and regretfully brought the interlude to an end, she had been disappointed, and before she knew what she was saying she had suggested they repeat the experience. She flushed pink afterwards, more than a little concerned that he thought her unhinged, but he had simply smiled and suggested a time and place that she agreed to. When she had returned to the garage, she found him surprisingly difficult to shake from her thoughts, and she already looked forward to their next meeting.

* * *

The second time they kissed was, by Gaby’s estimation, a thousand times better than the first. Not that the bar had been set particularly high, she still blushed bright as a lobster whenever she remembered it. After their initial coffee date, had come several more dates. She was almost grateful that they began their acquaintance on such wrong footing, otherwise she doubted that they would have seen in each other again, and as she spent more time with him, she realised what a shame that would have been. He was kind, so much kinder than she would ever have guessed just by looking at him. She understood now what a massive mistake she had made by judging him purely on a superficial first impression.

Ever since that coffee date, they had been dancing around each other. Neither were prepared to make the first move, the residual embarrassment from their first kiss still tinged the atmosphere. She was comforted by the knowledge that their relationship wasn’t purely friendly. She knew he desired her, she had caught him eyeing her legs or cleavage too many times to believe his interest in her was entirely platonic. And she wanted him too, more than she would ever admit. The accent that had initially irritated her had become oddly endearing the more she heard it.

She had smiled when she had heard that accent over the phone, inviting her to take an evening walk with him. She had agreed after an infinitely small moment of hesitation, the streets were not totally safe at night but she considered that they were unlikely to be bothered when taking into account the intimidating shadow her companion casted. When she had noted that he wasn’t built like an accountant, he had admitted to having been a soldier before he had retrained for the new career path. She was surprised that she had accepted it so easily, had she not grown to care for him then it might have become yet another point to hold against him.

He met her at her flat and declined her invitation to come in for a quick drink before their walk. Gaby quickly brushed off her disappointment and took the proffered arm. Their walk was mostly aimless, he didn’t seem to have in mind any particular destination, but she trusted him not to drag her into an alley and rape her. He had already had an opportunity, and had soundly rejected it. They eventually ended up at a park, she had immediately dropped into a seated position underneath a large tree and grinned up at him until he joined her.

“I shall have grass stains on this suit.” He had complained.

“Take a risk, live dangerously.” He had laughed at that, the first laugh of his she had heard.

“Silly Chop Shop Girl, you and my job are all the danger I need.” Then he had moved closer and kissed her as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and as though they hadn’t tiptoed around it for nearly a month. It was a good kiss, gentle and undemanding and over far too quickly for her liking.

After another half hour he walked her home, and shook his head in with a small smile when she once again suggested he come in. She had not let him leave totally unscathed, she had caught him by the lapels of his jacket as he had moved to leave, and yanked him down so she could tiptoe up and press a far less chaste kiss to his mouth.

* * *

Gaby sipped slowly at the cheap whisky, making a face as the alcohol burnt its way down her throat. If she hadn’t had plans for the evening she would have downed it as quickly as possible and immediately ordered one more from the miserable looking man behind the bar before he could move on to another customer. But as it was she did have plans, and these specific plans required her to pace herself somewhat on the drinking front.  

She glanced at the clock and nearly cheered when she saw it was 16:55. At her home, she had misread her watch and panicked, convinced that she was going to be late. She had near flown around the flat, throwing on the first dress she found, and rushed to the dingy bar they had arranged to meet at. When she had plonked herself down in a seat she had let out an audible groan as she saw what the actual time was. He didn’t finish work until about 17:00, and so she had settled in for a long wait, glaring violently at anyone who dared try to approach her.

Taking another sip, Gaby had let her thoughts drift to her plans for that evening. It was nearly two months to the day that she had met Viktor, and after a considerable amount of cajoling she had finally managed to convince him to come to her flat for “drinks”. She had worn him down, mostly by appealing to the downtime he clearly was in desperate need for. He had been tense and irritable the last time she had seen him, snapping like a wounded bear every time her teasing had struck a little too close to the bone, as it normally did. She had taken it personally until he had confessed that his job was causing him a lot of stress. She had hugged him then, feeling comically small against him, a wicked idea had come to her mind and she had risen onto her tiptoes to suggest that half a bottle of vodka would do wonders for his state of mind.

Such serious drinking could not really occur in any official establishment. She had heard rumours that informants were stationed at all the major watering holes, watching and waiting for any drunken confessions or momentary lapses in judgement leading to prosecutable slander of the state. He had agreed with her assessment, and then it had simply been a matter of convincing him that her flat was a suitable alternative.

She had tried to invite him to her home in the past but he had been surprisingly reluctant, usually finding an excuse at the last minute. She hoped he didn’t try to back out that evening, he had offered to supply the alcohol after making some uncomplimentary comments about the quality of German vodka, and she was looking forward to loudly proclaiming that she couldn’t taste the difference. Of course, drinking together was only going to be a small part of their evening if Gaby had her way. She had bought beautiful lace lingerie from the black market, the price had stung for a moment, but once she had put it on and taken some time to admire herself, she knew that it would be worth it just to see the look on his face. She was sure that it would be enough to melt away any lingering reluctance on his part to engage in intimacy.

Feeling a hand suddenly slide onto her shoulder, she prepared a bright smile and flirty greeting as she spun around in her chair only to feel bitter disappointment as she saw a swaying dark haired man leering at her.

“Pretty lady should not drink alone.” The man slurred and nearly collapsed into the seat next to her.

“That seat is taken.” She said coldly.

“No need to be so nasty, I’m just being sociable.” He swayed close to her, causing her lean back as she tried to avoid smelling his noxious breath.

“Go be sociable somewhere else.” Seeing that the man was not moving, Gaby grabbed her bag and prepared to sit somewhere else, but she was halted by a surprisingly strong hand wrapping around her wrist and yanking her back.

“You’ve been waiting a very long time. I don’t think your friend is coming, maybe you should spend some time with a man who will appreciate you.”

“She already is.” A voice behind her said in accented German.

“Honey,” Gaby said brightly to the newly arrived Viktor, “you’re late!” She knew she was laying it on a little thick, but she hoped it would be enough to get their unwelcome friend to leave her alone.

“My apologies, work overran a little.” He offered her his arm, which she gratefully took. Before they could quite escape, the drunk man decided to take a parting shot.

“Fucking Russian. Why don’t you go home and sleep with your own kind, that is if you don’t get distracted by a goat on the way.” He laughed at his own crude joke.

Stealing a glance up, Gaby could see that Viktor was not impressed at all, he looked deathly calm and his fingers that were resting on the bar counter had begun to drum against the surface. She had not seen him do this before, and so she knew it wasn’t an idle gesture he made. The drunk man looked as though he was going to say something else, and she quickly laid a restraining hand on Viktor’s arm, worried about what he might do if the man did not shut up.

“Albert!” A newcomer squeezed past the couple to grab the drunk man. “Come on, you’ve had too much to drink. Leave these people alone.” The newcomer gave them a glance and after seeing the look on Viktor’s face, he spoke up again. “I’m sorry about him, his wife left him last week. He’s not coping well.” This declaration caused the man to burst into sobs as he was suddenly reminded of his recent sorrow.

There was an immediate absence that Gaby noticed after the man was dragged away, and looking down at the counter she saw that Viktor’s fingers had stilled and were no longer making that strange, repetitive noise. The sight was surprisingly reassuring and she found herself releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding.

* * *

One of her happier memories of that six months was surprisingly mundane. It was the simple pleasure of a shared meal- prepped and cooked twice over since the first attempt resulted in an inedible charred mess that may once have belonged to an animal. That in itself would have been enough to ruin the evening had it not been for a low chuckle accompanying the sound of a pair of hands, much larger than her own, beginning to chop vegetables for a stew. Before she could even begin to protest that she was supposed to be cooking a meal for him, a large glass of vodka was quickly pushed into her hands and she was sent away from the little kitchen. She had spent the next hour with a content smile, sipping her drink and watching him work with the same efficiency he applied to any other task. Later that evening, pleasantly tipsy, she had fallen asleep in his lap as he told her about what he had done that day at his boring accountancy job. Her last conscious sensation before she drifted off was of his lips pressing against the top of her head.

* * *

They were at an engagement party, five months into their relationship, when Gaby suddenly realised how serious her feelings for the giant, quiet Russian were. It had been a struggle just to get Viktor to attend, what with his dislike of crowded places full of drunk people, but by using an effective combination of threats and promises she had eventually convinced him. It had been a fun evening, and she had particularly enjoyed teasing Gretchen about her adoring and utterly devoted fiancée. But underneath the happiness she had felt an unexpected pang of envy, and against her will her mind had turned to silly wishful ideas about her own future, all of them heavily featuring the Russian that had spent all evening by her side.

After the party, they had returned to her flat, Gaby having to lean slightly on Viktor as they walked. He never drank as much as she did, usually forgoing alcohol altogether except for the odd occasions where he would join her for a glass of something strong. That night had not been one of those occasions. Once at the flat, he had immediately pushed her into an armchair and headed to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. She had sprawled inelegantly across the chair and unsuccessfully attempted to kick off her uncomfortable shoes. She had glared hatefully at them until he returned, handing her the glass before turning his attention to her feet and nimbly undoing the straps. She let out a blissful sigh when his thumbs pressed into the arch of her aching foot.

“Have you ever thought about getting married?” She asked suddenly, the booze still in her system coaxing the words out before she could truly consider their potential impact. She felt his fingers suddenly stop their ministrations, and she opened her eyes to see an unusual tension about his shoulders. “I don’t mean us,” she amended quickly, “I just meant in general.” Her additional words didn’t seem to have any relaxing effect on him, instead he carefully put her foot down again and leaned back against the chair from his seated position on the floor.

“I don’t think I will ever be married.” He admitted quietly. She frowned and struggled to sit upright.

“Why not?” There was a lengthy pause before he answered, as though he was weighing multiple options or trying to find a way to delicately phrase his feelings.

“My job requires me to move around a lot, I don’t really stay in the same place long enough to think about marriage.”

“You’re an accountant, Viktor.” She pointed out, somewhat needlessly. “You could get a permanent job anywhere.” She noticed with some annoyance that he was avoiding eye contact with her.

“I work for a firm of accountants.” He clarified. “They decide where I work. If they want me to be in Moscow tomorrow, I have to be in Moscow tomorrow.” This seemed unreasonable to Gaby, who at that moment did not notice how uncharacteristically frank he was being about a job he had been quite vague about in the past.

“Can’t you just quit the firm and work where you want?”

“No.” He said humourlessly. “I can’t.”

After a few minutes, the penny finally dropped for Gaby, and later she would convince herself that her momentary cluelessness was solely due to her inebriation. For the first time in the months that they had known each other, she began to consider that perhaps he wasn’t actually an accountant like he had always claimed. Most of the men in his supposed line of work did not look like he did- big and dangerous. And most of them didn’t have scars like he did, faded and fading lines and marks forming a dense network along his torso, arms and legs. When she had first asked about them, stretched out nude across him and lightly tracing a particularly painful-looking scar, he had explained them away as old injuries from his former career as a soldier. It was only now that she began to doubt him. Some of those wounds had looked far too fresh to be years old. Unbidden, one of his earlier sentences returned to the forefront of her mind, and she quickly pushed her near-certain suspicions away allowing a fiery and crackling anger to descend over her.

“Will you be leaving anytime soon?” She demanded, the inkling of understanding doing wonders to sober her up. He continued to avoid her gaze.

“It seems likely they will transfer me in a few weeks.” The confession dissipated most of her anger and caused the blood to drain from her face.

“When were you going to tell me?” She demanded sharply. “The day before you left?” He shook his head and reached for her hand, which she abruptly yanked from his grasp, almost relishing the barely concealed hurt that appeared on his face.

“I was going to tell you soon, I was waiting for the right moment.”

“Get out.” She said quietly. He looked a little taken aback by her order, he had clearly been expecting them to talk it through properly. But she couldn’t bring herself to be the bigger person, she just wanted him gone. “I want you to leave now.” For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to obey, but after a short pause he rose to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Gaby. I wanted to tell you.” She dismissed his apology with a sharp hand motion, and avoided looking at him as he walked out, not wanting him to see the water that had gathered in her eyes and was drop by drop beginning to slide down her cheeks.

As the door shut quietly behind him, she no longer bothered to conceal the sobs behind her fist. The harsh sound almost seemed to echo around her flat, amplifying the overwhelming loneliness that had suddenly come over her. She wondered what was so wrong with her that led to everyone she cared about leaving her. She had thought that she had finally found someone to be a permanent fixture in her life, the knowledge that he would disappear like all his predecessors was a bitter pill to swallow.

* * *

It took Gaby a few days to calm down again after her initial burst of fury at Viktor’s deception, and once the anger had faded she realised with some horror that she was really in no position to judge him. He may have been a spy, but was she any better? In all their time together she had never even hinted at him that she had links to the British intelligence services, nor had she ever told him anything about her Nazi relations. As far as he was aware she was the orphaned daughter of a car mechanic, not a weapon’s developer. If anything he had been more honest that she had been, at least he had done her the courtesy of suggesting his actual occupation and his impending departure. She was fully aware that she was waiting on someone to approach her about her father, and once that occurred her own time of living in East Berlin was coming to a close. What would have happened if the situations had been reversed? If instead of him leaving it was her, would she have been trusting enough to reveal to him the truth?

Having thought it all through, she felt an overwhelming sensation of guilt at her overreaction. They both had their secrets, and she had judged him unfairly for his own which were no worse than hers. Swallowing her pride, she made her way to his flat in the evening. She knew where it was, but he had not invited her in the past- usually claiming that her home was much nicer and there was nothing to see in his.

She rang the doorbell and after a moment the door opened slowly and Viktor peeked out. “Gaby?” He said, clearly surprised by her presence.

“Can I come in?” She asked, there was a pause before he nodded and opened the door. Walking in the first thing she saw was him returning a gun to its holster underneath his shirt. It seemed that he had been holding it to the door in case his visitor was hostile. He saw her looking but didn’t say anything or offer an explanation.

“What is it? Is there something wrong?”

“No, I-” she shifted uncomfortably, “I wanted to know if we could just forget the other day happened. I know you will have to leave soon, but I don’t want us to part on bad terms.” He looked shocked by what she said, he obviously had not expected her to be so forgiving.

“We can, if that’s what you want. But-” His acceptance was all she wanted to hear at that point, and she seized the opportunity to move forward and wrap her arms around him, keeping her hands well above the gun he still carried. His steady heartbeat under her ear was a welcome sound, and she felt him embrace her back. The hug was both a gesture of forgiveness and a consequence of her suddenly being aware that every moment they had left may be the last. He had become such a big part of her life in so little time that she couldn’t imagine what it would be like without him. She vowed that she would cherish every minute they were together until there were no more.

* * *

When Gaby heard about the sudden series of arrests at her lover’s workplace, she knew that Viktor would soon be leaving Berlin. He had never directly confirmed her suspicions that he was a spy, he hadn’t needed to and after the argument they had nearly a month before, she had not wanted to pry and risk casting a dark shadow over their last few weeks together. She knew that he had been involved in the sudden downfall of the company, his job as an accountant would have given him plenty of access to the accounts and likely to other incriminating evidence.

She had not been surprised when he appeared at her door, looking more grim than happy to see her. She knew what he had come to say, so she had not let him speak. She tackled him to the floor, accidentally knocking a vase off a nearby table and kissed him hard before he could speak. He was too surprised to resist her, and too unwilling to stop her. They didn’t make it to the couch or the bed, the floor wasn’t particularly comfortable but it wasn’t a big enough concern for them to stop and move.

When they had finished, he said something in Russian, and for a moment she had been furious at herself for never bothering to learn the language. Before she could ask for a translation, he had picked her up and carried her to her bedroom, pulling the covers over both of them.

“What did that mean?” She asked once they were comfortably tangled together.

“What did what mean?” He played dumb. She imitated him, probably butchering the language as she did so, judging by his laughter. He repeated the words correctly, and she elbowed him in irritation when he ‘forgot’ to tell her the German equivalent.

“It means, ‘I love you’.” He told her eventually. He repeated the Russian again, but this time with an additional word.

“What does that mean?” She said the additional word.

“That means ‘goodbye’.” The tears came quickly and quietly, but even with her attempts at hiding it, he still noticed, and his large thumbs carefully wiped them away. “No tears.” He ordered her gently.

“No tears.” She echoed, and kissed him gently before burrowing into the covers and pulling his arm over so it was slung across her waist. When she woke up the next morning, the bed was cold and he was gone.

* * *

With hindsight it was clear that their relationship was doomed from the beginning. He gave her hints of this, in his own way. In the six months they knew each other, the only gifts he gave her were perishables: flowers that would wither and die after a few days, boxes of sweets that she would eat, and bottles of whisky or vodka or whatever she felt like that she would drink. No jewellery or practical gifts, like a normal lover might give. At the time she had not really noticed, accepting each treat with near child-like enthusiasm. It was only when he said his final goodbye that she realised that the only proof she had that he had been in her life were dead flowers and empty containers.


End file.
